Chasing Cars
by PersianFreak
Summary: World-renowned author Sookie Stackhouse pulls some strings to get embedded within the police force. Initially regarding it as a research opportunity, she is not prepared to meet someone with the potential to change her life. AH/OOC
1. Chapter 1

**Chasing Cars **by _PersianFreak_

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Charlaine Harris, I just consider them my playmates. This story is inspired by the show _Castle_, and the title is inspired by the song of the same name by Snow Patrol.

Rating: Mature

A/N: I'm back! Not tired of me, are ya? Happy May Long Weekend to all you Canadians and uhm… happy non-special Monday to everybody else.  
>I've been working on this story since the beginning of February and I'm predicting nine chapters right now, though it could get longer. I'm also really quite fond of it so please do let me know what you think! You guys are the reason I keep posting things over here on FF =]<p>

* * *

><p>This time,<p>

Don't need another perfect line,

Don't care if critics jump in line,

I'm gonna give all my secrets away.

"Secrets", OneRepublic

Chapter One

The first thing I notice when I walk into the bullpen of the police station is that it's so much better lit than TV shows have led me to believe it would be.

The next thing is that there's a constant low thrum of conversation and movement. Detectives roll around in their office chairs, phones ring, and suspects and convicts come and go, handcuffed and with grim expressions on their faces.

I bite the inside of my lips to keep from grinning from the excitement of this whole situation; no matter how many New York Times Bestsellers I write, there are always new experiences that make my heart beat faster, and this stint is the most exciting of them all. The day my publisher Pam received a phone call from the mayor's office was my 29th birthday, and I had begrudgingly dropped by the office to sign off on some last minute changes to the cover art. With the release date mere weeks away, I had let Pam drag me down to the arts department and agreed that yes, the warmer colour theme did add to the mystery of the shadowed figures. Or whatever. As I liked to point out as often as possible, I just wrote the books. The rest were up to Pam, as far as I was concerned. Regardless, that incident had resulted in me being present when the _mayor himself_ called, asking to speak to me. I had scrambled to pick my jaw up off the floor before grabbing the phone, and had proceeded to have a conversation with Mayor Brigant in which he had declared himself a fan who would very much like to receive an advance copy of my upcoming book.

Now, two years later and in light of the release of yet another book, I had casually mentioned to my _friend_ Niall Brigant that it was tough, trying to write about cops when all I get to go on is interviews from retirees. There are details – I had told Niall – small nuances in every atmosphere that can make or break a book, that an author just can't write about unless he or she has experienced it firsthand. For example, I had explained, it's tough to write about a criminal case when I had never been present throughout the process of one getting solved. Niall had given me a long look, drank some of his scotch, and suggested that maybe I should find a way to get involved, to which I had responded that I had befriended the mayor in an attempt to do so. Throwing his head back to laugh, Niall had told me he would see what he could do, which is how today I'm walking into the downtown police station of the city of Calgary. I ask the kind gentleman escorting me where I can find Captain Bartlett and he points me towards the office in the far corner. I thank him and stride past the various desks to come to a stop in front of someone who appears to be the Captain's secretary. I tell her my name and wait patiently as she announces my arrival over the intercom, and smile at her as she waves me in. Captain Bartlett is an older man reminiscent of Martin Sheen, whose smile and grey eyes only hint at the depth of character that has made him a well-respected police captain. He introduces me to Lieutenant Edgington and tells me rather bluntly than no detective will enjoy having a smart-aleck mystery-writer shadow him for the next few weeks. Having said that, he promises me the detective I am assigned to is one of the best the city has ever seen, though I might as well prepare myself to feel entirely unwelcome. I take the news in stride and wait as he calls a Detective Northman to his office, declining his offer for a coffee in the meantime. Edgington eyes me up and down and makes pleasant small talk until Northman walks in a minute later. I stand up to shake his hand while mentally wondering what would make someone this pretty pick a job this ugly. I'm usually not one to dismiss someone's intelligence based on their looks since I'm often the first to get dismissed because of my D-cups and blonde hair, but I have never seen someone with eyes so blue and muscles so well-defined be anything other than an Abercrombie & Fitch model. He regards me with cool disdain, and shoots his superiors a look that hints to an argument they probably had before my arrival.

"Ms Stackhouse," he nods and extends a hand I accept.

"Detective Northman. It's great to meet you. I look forward to working with you."

"Likewise, Ms Stackhouse." His voice drips with insincerity. I have to admit, it has been years since someone has looked at me without even a hint of interest; even if my body isn't enough, my charm and the words "New York Times Best-Selling Author" tacked on the beginning of my name often garner the attention of most males, as well as some females. And even though I'm as prone to the occasional bouts of insecurity as the next woman, a part of me realizes that his attitude not only has very little to do with me, it's not even caused by the situation Niall has put him and his captain in. He dislikes me, at a fundamental level, without having even had a single conversation with me.

I'm intrigued, to say the least.

A few minutes later, I'm following the good detective out to his desk.

"Ms Stackhouse, meet Detective Charles Twining, Detective Thalia Zervos, and Detective Clancy MacKenna. This is New York Times Best-Selling Author Susannah Stackhouse. She'll be shadowing us for the duration of this case." He sounds bored, and a tad sarcastic when he introduces me, yet I'm too curious to be offended at his attitude. I smile and shake the hands of all three, attempting to keep track of their names and faces. Zervos stands out as the only girl, her thick dark hair gathered into a ponytail, her delicate features formed into a serious expression. She nods at me and I turn to Twining who grins and goes so far as to ask me how I'm doing. He too has long dark hair, gathered into a low ponytail, and wears a single gold hoop in his right ear. He tells me he is a fan of the books, and when Northman turns away for a moment, quietly asks me if I'm willing to sign his books for him. MacKenna is equally friendly, and the very definition of Irish, though he rolls his eyes when Twining asks me for my autograph. I'm grateful that I don't seem to need to prove myself to these people; none of them, save for Northman that is, seem too bothered by me.

"Twining, care to bring Ms Stackhouse up to date with the case?"

"Yes boss." Twining leads me to a stand-alone whiteboard against the wall. It's mostly blank save for a picture of a victim, potential leads and witnesses branching out from the photo like a spider web.

"That," he taps the photo, "is Victor Madden. He was found face-down in the Men's room of the public library, in a pool of his own blood." I wince. The photo features Madden, with his waxy skin and dark greasy hair, on a morgue table. I'm almost glad there is no photo of the crime scene; there is a difference between writing about gory deaths and witnessing the reality. I'm really more interested in the process the cops go through anyways.

"When?"

"This morning. The coroner puts his time of death at around nine last night. The library closed at ten."

"How was he not found any sooner, in a public bathroom?" This doesn't sound right.

Twining shrugs. "It's an out-of-the-way bathroom in the basement stairwell. Mostly homeless people use it. That's how he was found this morning."

"Are there any leads?"

He gives me a shrug-head shake hybrid. "He does appraisals, for artwork. He has a multi-million dollar apartment downtown. We're running through his clients for anything that jumps out."

"Does he have any family?"

"Parents died years ago, but he has a sister in Vancouver. She's flying in tonight."

"We're going to Madden's apartment." Northman interrupts, and turns to me. "You can come, or you can stay. We're going to be there for a while though." He shoots a pointed look at my insensible black stilettos.

"I have flats in my bag," I smile. I may be rich and famous, but I'm not an idiot, despite what Northman might think of me.

"Alright then." He gives me a curt nod before turning to his team. "Let's haul ass."

"So what's Northman's story?" I ask Detective Zervos in the car. Her partner, MacKenna, is driving and shoots me a look in the rearview mirror. Outside the car, the arrival of February has done little to warm up the frigid Calgary climate. Here, the only difference between November and February is the colour of the snow piled on the sides of the streets; by this time of year, it's black with grime. I rub at a grey smear on my black winter coat and pray for summer.

"His story?" Zervos turns around to raise an eyebrow at me.

"Does he ever smile?"

"Why, you want to tap that?" The corner of her mouth twitches upwards.

"At this point, I'm not sure 'that' is human. Does he express anything other than disapproval?"

"I got a pat to the shoulder once," MacKenna volunteers with a wry grin.

"He's a good detective." Zervos defends.

"He really doesn't like me." I comment, looking out the window.

"He really doesn't like anybody."

"And you guys never wondered why?" I ask them. How can you work with somebody like that and not develop a complex? I'd be killing myself to get a reaction out of him.

It's Zervos' turn to shrug. "We're co-workers, not friends. He gets the job done and he does it well. He'll respect you if you earn it. Nobody really cares if he cracks jokes while shooting bad guys." Fair enough, I suppose. I figure there is very little to lighten the mood anyways, when there's a mangled body on the floor.

"Is he married?" Read; does anybody put up with him at home?

"As in, does anybody put up with him at home?" MacKenna winks at me in the mirror.

"No," Thalia responds and her partner grins at her.

"They're fuck buddies," he tells me with a gleeful grin, noting my questioning silence.

"Shut your mouth, Clancy."

"I'm sorry, they _used_ to be fuck buddies," he corrects himself, looking not at all sorry.

"What happened?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.

"What do you mean?" I can see her raised brow in the mirror.

"When fuck buddies stop – excuse my French – fucking, it's usually because one of them starts wanting something more." I would know.

"And I thought I was the detective," she muses. "Neither one of us wanted more. I got transferred to his team, and we stopped. There's a non-fraternizing policy."

"Shitty," I comment. I'd be pissed if I had to spend every day with my ex-fuck buddy. A part of me wants to ask for a whole bunch of details I have no business knowing, but the nostalgic look in her eyes stops me and I turn to admire the scenery outside the window.

888

We spend four hours at Madden's apartment, going through everything. The place is immaculate and filled with high-end furniture, and I walk around, careful not to touch anything as I've been ordered. On the bedside table lies a pile of library books which at least explains what he was doing there, though judging by the look on Northman's face he isn't entirely convinced. I get it; a library card doesn't explain why someone would be found dead in a library. There are no photos of girlfriends; nobody other than what appears to be his sister and her family, as well as some childhood photos of the two of them. They seemed pretty close, I think sadly. Twining quietly informs me that they hadn't found a cellphone on the body, and there isn't one in the apartment or in Madden's brand-new sports Audi either. There was no way somebody like Madden didn't have a cellphone, I comment and Twining grins at me, patting me on the head and calling me 'young grasshopper'.

By the end of the day when I'm about ready to head home, we know that Madden had been hired by a Felipe de Castro, a well known but never-convicted drug pusher working as an arts dealer, officially. De Castro will have to be brought in, of his own volition of course because there are no grounds to bring him in as a suspect, what with his practically spotless record.

"Why would De Castro have Madden killed?" I ask, looking around at the four detectives seated at the conference table. We all have cups of coffee in front of us, and outside it's almost dark, but I'm unwilling to leave when everybody else is still working.

"Maybe he fucked up an appraisal," Thalia suggests, running a finger around the rim of her cup.

"It would take a huge miscalculation on Madden's part to get him killed," Twining points out.

"De Castro would be far more likely to make Madden sell everything he's got to make up for whatever money he lost De Castro." Northman shakes his head. "He's too careful to whack a guy for screwing up once."

"Maybe it wasn't his first time screwing up," MacKenna suggests.

"How big of an idiot would you have to be to screw up more than once when your employer is De Castro?" Zervos rolls her eyes. I can see her point; someone like De Castro wouldn't pick any idiot to work for him, it would have been a pretty well thought out choice. Messing up once is understandable, it happens, and would have earned Madden the mob equivalent of a slap to the wrists. To mess up more than once, you'd either have to be stupid – which would imply De Castro is stupid – or suicidal. And there are easier ways to kill yourself.

"What if it had nothing to do with money?" I speak up and instantly become the center of attention as all four detectives raise their brows at me. I can't decide if it's because I've spoken in a discussion with a bunch of cops, or because what I'm saying makes sense. I forge ahead, "I mean, you said it yourself," I look at Northman, "De Castro would be far more likely to make Madden make up for what he lost if it was about money. And he couldn't have been an idiot, otherwise he wouldn't have ended up working for De Castro. So what would make a mob leader decide to whack someone who I'm assuming was making him a lot of money?" There is a long moment of silence.

"We'll figure that out tomorrow," Northman breaks the silence, looking at his watch. "It's almost seven. Let's get out of here before I get another call from Twining's girlfriend bitching me out for keeping him through dinner." That earns him laughter, and I hear MacKenna mimic who I'm assuming is Twining's girlfriend as they leave the conference room.

"Detective Northman," I begin once we're left alone, and he looks up from where he's closing a file to shoot me a coolly inquisitive look.

"Yes, Miss Stackhouse?"

I had been planning on asking him what his problem was with me, but now, alone to bear the full weight of his gaze, I'm chickening out. "Nothing. Have a good night." Downstairs, I sign out of the building with my brand-new access card and throw myself into my car. My dark blue BMW X5 is my baby, and I sigh as I navigate through my iPod to find a mood-appropriate playlist before pulling out of the parking spot and onto 6th Ave. I'm home not long after, and treat myself to a glass of wine and a bath after a light supper. Despite Northman's less than enthusiastic attitude, I'm looking forward to this. I'm used to being the author of the story; it's interesting to be the one without a clue as to how it's going to end. Like I've somehow managed to delve into my own books, I think to myself and smile as I sip at my wine. Even if I don't enjoy Northman, his team I find rather intriguing. They have an interesting dynamic; professional, yet not above teasing when the opportunity presents itself. Inevitably, as I sink further down in the warm water of the bathtub, my mind wanders to Zervos and Northman, and their pre-professional relationship. I wonder what it takes for someone as cold as Northman to show emotion; I can't imagine him being so clinical in bed, or in any intimate setting.

When the water turns cool, I wrap a towel around my body and drain the tub, pulling on my softest pajamas before crawling under the covers to fall asleep almost instantly.

888

I fall into a pattern with my temporary coworkers, specifically Northman. I try to come in early every morning, not wanting to give anybody any more reason to resent me beyond the fact that I'm some rich girl with connections. What I find, the first morning I let myself into the building with my fancy new security badge, is Northman sitting quietly in the lunchroom with a cup of coffee, evidently catching up on some paperwork. He looks up, regarding me expressionlessly, and I shoot him a small smile before pouring myself some coffee and joining him at the table. We work in complete silence until everybody else starts heading in and we join the rest of the team.

"She looks distraught," I comment later that morning, watching Isabel Robinson nee Madden answer Detective Zervos' questions from behind the interrogation room glass.

"She looks fine to me," says Twining, instigating a look from me.

"Because she's not crying?" I quirk a brow. "You can see how devastated she is by the look in her eyes."

"That's very astute of you, Miss Stackhouse," Northman comments from the corner where he's perched on a table, arms crossed and legs stretched out. Meeting his eyes, I keep my expression carefully blank and regard him.

"I'm paid to notice details and write about them, Detective." Turning back to the one-sided mirror, I add, "I can't imagine what she must be feeling right now. She's not a suspect, is she?"

"She was having dinner with her in-laws," Twining tells me with a shake of his head. In the interrogation room, Isabel is just telling Zervos that Madden had a girlfriend.

"There was nothing to indicate that in his apartment," MacKenna murmurs with a frown.

"Was she someone you knew?" Zervos asks on the other side of the glass and Isabel shakes her head.

"We talked on the phone all the time, and a few months ago he just started sounding different. Happier." She shrugs and sniffles a little bit.

"And he told you it was because of his girlfriend?"

"Well, he said there was a woman. I assumed they were together, but maybe she was just someone he knew." Madden's sister hesitates, frowning slightly. "He was always so vague about her, and he never told me her name. I thought it was weird, but I didn't push it. He sounded happy," she repeats, choking on the word.

"Why would you not tell your sister the name of your girlfriend?" I ask and turn around to face the roomful of detectives.

Northman gives me a long, hard look, and says, "Because she has the potential to get you killed."

"She had no clue her brother was working for De Castro; just that all of a sudden, a few years ago, he started getting paid better." Zervos sighs when she joins us, and we reconvene in the conference room. "And all of a sudden he's dead."

"Are we going to try and find the girl?" I ask.

"Where do you suggest we start, Miss Stackhouse?" It's Northman who speaks, with a look that makes me instantly bristle.

"Are there any women close to De Castro?" Looking around at the team, I watch as Twining pulls up the file on De Castro and flips it open.

"He has a girlfriend, and a daughter from the girlfriend."

"Age?" Northman asks.

"Girlfriend is 27, daughter is 5." He shoves two surveillance photos forward, both featuring a young woman carrying her small child in her arms. I wait until everyone has gotten a look at the photos before pulling them towards me on the table. She's gorgeous, I note, with red hair and a gamine figure seemingly unmarred by her pregnancy.

"She looks miserable," says Zervos quietly.

"Like a woman in love, huh?" I grin at her over my shoulder.

"What is it with you women? Maybe she was just having a bad day." MacKenna frowns over at us, and I point out the woman's expression.

"That is not the face of someone having a bad day, Detective. Call it women's intuition; she is miserable."

"What's her name?" asks Northman, disregarding our bickering.

Twining flips through the file. "Sophie-Anne Leclerq. Originally from Lethbridge, she attended U of Calgary for a degree in Speech Pathology."

MacKenna frowns. "Who the hell gets a degree in Speech Pathology?"

"Speech pathologists," everyone – save for Northman, of course – choruses. MacKenna sighs and mutters something about getting more coffee.

"So what, you think she is the girl?" Twining asks me. I shrug and look at Northman who meets my gaze.

"Let's find out. Bring her in." That is the cop equivalent of _break!_ And everyone begins to disperse. "Ms Stackhouse," he calls and I pause as I toss my things into my bag. "I understand that writing mystery novels gives you the impression that you can do this, but you are here to observe, not join in. I'd appreciate it if you limited yourself to observation." His gaze is steely and I have to bite back my retort, because it seemed to me like my contributions were helping the case, and nobody else seemed to mind. But he's right, I suppose. I had been overstepping my bounds, and just because nobody else complained doesn't make it right. I have no interest in rocking the boat here.

"I didn't realize I was hindering the progress of the investigation," I tell him politely.

"You may not see it, but you are. If my team learns to depend on you here, they'll expect to be able to depend on you on the scene, and I'm quite certain you don't know the protocol when there's guns involved." My silence is sufficient response; I have no clue what to do with a gun. "That's what I thought. Like I said, I'd appreciate it if you didn't overstep your bounds."

"I'm sorry that I seem to have jeopardized your team," I say solemnly.

"I don't need your apology." Wow. What a douche. You do need a swift kick to the pants, evidently. "Coming along?" he asks from where he is now standing by the door, and I nod to follow him.

888

I get to tag along when, a few hours later, we catch DeCastro's girlfriend picking up her daughter from school.

"Ms Leclerq," Zervos calls out and Sophie-Anne shoots us a look like she's cornered prey and hoists her daughter up on her hip. The little girl regards us, beaming when I wink at her. Around us, the older kids are starting to head home while parents usher away their younger children, a few kids in bright orange vests stopping traffic with the shrill sound of their whistles as people cross the suburban street. This is a nice part of town; within walking distance of the university and close to the C-Train, the houses here sell for close to a million dollars, easy, all thanks to the prime location.

"What can I do for you?"

"I'm Detective Zervos, this is my partner Detective MacKenna and this is Susannah Stackhouse," Zervos gestures while Sophie-Anne eyes me, no doubt noting my lack of a title, and I try to smile reassuringly. "We were hoping to ask you some questions?"

"Um, I can't, I'm sorry." She attempts to push past us.

"Did you know Victor Madden?" Zervos asks instead and it makes her hesitate, if only for a moment, but that's enough for Zervos to pounce. "He worked for Felipe De Castro."

Sophie-Anne seems to deflate and puts her daughter down to crouch to her level. "Sweetie, go play on the playground for a bit, okay?"

"What's her name?" I ask when the tiny redhead has run off. Over my shoulder, Sophie-Anne is watching her daughter.

"Had. Hadley."

"She's beautiful."

She smiles, though it doesn't reach her eyes, and turns back to Zervos. "Mr Madden is dead? It was on the news."

"Yes. You knew him?"

"I saw him a couple of times in passing." She shrugs, not very convincingly. "He worked for my fiancé."

Fiancé? MacKenna and I exchange a look.

"Your fiancé?" Zervos asks, and Sophie-Anne holds up her left hand where a large diamond is sparkling.

"Felipe proposed. You should update your files." She smiles a little bit, like she knows full well that she is, by association, the subject of a lot of scrutiny by the justice system.

"So you didn't really know Victor."

"Not any more than any of my fiancé's other employees."

We keep talking, Zervos continuing to needle Sophie-Anne while MacKenna keeps his distance and I do my best to figure out what her deal is. Ten minutes later, I throw myself in the backseat, my frustration matching Zervos'.

"It's her. Did you see the look on her face when I asked her about Madden? And that 'Mr Madden' bullshit?"

"Well, let's find proof then." MacKenna placates in a perfect example of why the two of them work well as partners.

Several hours of going through all the information we can get on both Madden and Leclerq, I can finally head home to get some writing done. I have about twenty pages of notes at this point, written in my shorthand, that I need to type up and shape into some sort of a story I can send off to Pam for her approval. It's almost midnight by the time I'm done, and I crawl into bed only to be kept awake by thoughts of my talk with Northman. I'm pissed off at his attitude, but I understand his concern, which only furthers my anger.

The next morning, I briefly consider not having my coffee in the lunchroom. What it comes down to, however, is whether or not I can't accept that he was justified in what he said. If I'd been in his place, I probably would have picked insulting him over the safety of my team. I decide I can move past it, and head into the room to work on the rough draft of a plot that is slowly taking shape. He looks almost surprised to see me but still nods in greeting and that's when I notice the extra cup of coffee he has set out. I shoot him a look and take the seat to sip apprehensively at the hot liquid. I guess he'd been paying attention because he's fixed it the way I like it, and I murmur a thank you that earns me a smile. He's pretty much all forgiven at this point even though I wish I could have held a grudge, but I find I can't. It was a surprising gesture that I had not anticipated, and I find my thoughts drifting to it throughout the day as everyone Madden ever came in contact with is interviewed. The one that knows him best, other than his sister, appears to be the Starbucks girl around the corner from his house, because his coffee preference is the most information he has divulged to everyone. His clients, the ones that actually cooperate – as in, not De Castro – are all satisfied with his work and with no information that will help us. In the meantime, Northman and Twining dig up some actually useful information; Sophie-Ann attends a creative writing class on Wednesday nights that doesn't actually exist. A little smooth-talking gets us a warrant to her phone and credit card records, the latter of which reveal nothing while the former provide us with the proverbial jackpot.

"She made a call to Madden's cellphone four hours before his death," Twining announces.

"How did this not come up when we looked at Madden's phone records?" Zervos frowns and glances at the call sheets.

"Because her phone is registered to Sophie-Ann Threadgill, so it didn't get red-flagged. Leclerq is her mother's maiden name that she took after her parents separated. Daddy Threadgill was a big domestic violence fan."

"We get to bring her in?" MacKenna asks Northman who nods. I choose to stay back this time, and grab myself a cup of coffee from the kitchen to return and find only Northman working at the conference table. I look around and find nobody nearby; Twining must have gone off with MacKenna and Zervos or something, so I make an executive decision and do a turnabout to get another cup of coffee before returning to where Northman is still working. I grab a seat and place the coffee in front of him so he glances up long enough to quirk a brow at me.

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

"Are you bribing me?" I shrug. "If I say 'yes', will you not?"

"Well, since you're being so kind about it." I roll my eyes. "What made you become a cop?"

"What made you want to write?" he retorts instantly.

"If I tell you, will you tell me?"

He sighs. "My daddy beat me."

Wow. "Seriously?"

"Nope. Parents were hippies. Too mellow to beat me."

"_Your _parents are hippies?"

"Met at Woodstock. You can thank me for the cliché in your dedication." He nods towards my notebook.

"So what made you…?"

"An asshole?" He smirks knowingly. "Cynicism."

"Because people are idiots?"

"Quite often, yes."

"You must love your job," I remark.

"I'm surrounded by people who are smart enough to catch idiots. It could have been worse." He lets that settle in and takes a sip of black coffee.

"Why do you dislike me?" I ask after a long moment of silence. What little warmth there had been in his eyes disappears, instantly.

"Because you're dead weight in this investigation."

Ouch. That's uncalled for. I've been helping. "Then why did you let me tag along with your team?"

"I didn't have a choice. Captain's orders," he says without even looking at me.

"Wow. Stop it with the warmth, Detective."

"Did you come to me for a hug? You will be sorely disappointed."

I run my hand along the rim of the Styrofoam cup. "Well Detective, I promise you won't have me hinder you for any longer than one case. That's it, just one." Walking away from him, I wonder at just how hurt I am by his words, even if he doesn't owe me anything. The coffee thing had seemed like progress, and it had gotten my hopes up a little bit since a part of me regards him as a bit of a challenge. It's been years since anybody didn't suck up to me. Not that I'm a bitch; it's just that everybody feels the need to appease me just because I write books that people like. Not counting the occasional critique, of course, because I do get those. Pam tends to give me a heads up so I can avoid them, but I usually spend a couple of days wondering what the hell they could be saying about me.

Regardless, the fact that Northman so openly dislikes me is a little unnerving, especially since I'm starting to like him. It has gone beyond just a preliminary attraction; most nights I go home and think about what he's up to, if he's lying awake thinking about me too. It's all very _Twilight_, I had to admit, but it's hard not to fall for his stunning blue eyes and sharp mind. For the next few days, I do my best to keep my mouth shut and find that it makes Northman look almost okay with having me around.

The second time the detectives have a conversation with Sophie-Anne, this time as a suspect, she breaks down and reveals that she had been seeing Madden for months.

"She says she didn't call him that night though," says MacKenna afterwards. "They met every Wednesday in the library and snuck out through the underground parking so they couldn't be followed by De Castro's surveillance team."

"But Madden was killed on a Sunday," I interject before I can stop myself and shoot Northman a nervous look.

"And if she didn't make the call…" continues Zervos.

"Oh, I don't know." MacKenna puts his elbows up on the table and rests his chin in his hands. "If you were a mobster and your hottie baby-mama was boinking your employee, what would you do?" He grins around the table and Northman rolls his eyes.

"So De Castro got Madden to meet him at the library? Why would he go, he had to suspect that something was up," says MacKenna.

"Unless they told him they would hurt Sophie-Ann," suggests Zervos.

"But she had no idea what was going on."

"She didn't have to," says Northman. "All De Castro had to do was call Madden on her phone and tell him to meet where he always meets Sophie-Ann. The fact that De Castro knew about the library thing could convince Madden that they'd somehow gotten the information out of her, and that she really could be in danger should he refuse to show."

"So he shows up to save his girl, De Castro's people grab him and he ends up with a bullet in his brain," Twining finishes the story and we all fall silent.

"Alright then, let's find the evidence," says Northman.

"It's not going to be easy," says Twining. "He's been tried a dozen times but never convicted, for anything."

"Then let's find something ironclad. I'm not letting this guy slip through our fingers again."

The following weeks are spent scouring every inch of information we can find. A lot of some pretty daunting interrogation methods later, one of De Castro's henchmen confesses to using Sophie-Anne's phone to lure Madden. The Assistant District Attorney cuts a deal with him, promising protection from De Castro and minimal charges should he tell the police everything he knows about De Castro's inner dealings.

And he does. Boy, does he ever.

What works in our favour is the fact that De Castro got sloppy with Madden; he found out about his relationship with Sophie-Anne and, in his anger, failed to cover his tracks as well as he evidently always did. Sigebert, the henchman who spilled the beans, had never been the assassin in De Castro's plans and Sigebert who is not exactly the brightest and a person of rather sensitive character had not appreciated the 'promotion'. It's almost a tad comical to see the 6'8" man make a confession with such a subdued tone, like a child who knows he has done something wrong. The DA wants to find evidence to charge De Castro with as much stuff as they possibly can from his long history of crime, and so I watch as Northman compassionately coaxes Sophie-Ann into revealing as much as she possibly can.

"Wow," I can't help murmuring as I watch and Zervos looks over at me.

"Surprising, isn't it?"

That snaps me out of my heart-wrenching moment. "What do you mean?"

"That he can be such a sweetheart out of the blue," she inclines her head towards the interrogation room.

I nod slowly and realize I have a bit of an in. "Thalia, when you guys were together-"

"We were never together."

"Right. When you were sleeping together, was he…" God, what am I even asking her. "You know what, nevermind."

"If you want him, go get him." She tells me with a smile.

"Who says I want him?"

"Nobody." Her grin widens. "He was good, you know. I don't mean the sex, but he was good. He's not always cold, just when he's at work. It makes him a better detective."

I let that sink in for a second and then nod. "Thanks."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Holy hell, you guys! My inbox blew up with all the Story and Author Alerts and whatnot. However, as enthusiastic as your reviews were, I just wanted you make sure you guys saw the genre of this story, which is Drama and sadly not Mystery. Sookie is only staying with the police force for one case and that is it. One day I might write an actual mystery but this is not it, so my most sincere apologies to those of you who thought you were signing up for that.

On a different note, FF is being very helpful and not letting me respond to your reviews, so I'ma have to PM you if you ask me questions. Otherwise, know that I read your review and am SO grateful that you took the time to read and give feedback =]

Having said all that, here is chapter two. Comments and questions are all very much appreciated.

* * *

><p>I don't quite know<p>

How to say

How I feel.

Those three words

Are said too much.

They're not enough.

"Chasing Cars", Snow Patrol

Chapter Two

_She untangles herself from the sheets and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Behind her, he is still asleep, his face half-concealed by a pillow and his body more or less covered by the sheets. He's beautiful, she thinks to herself for the dozenth time. _

_She has to walk away. When he opens his eyes – the gorgeous blue eyes that had burned into hers last night, as he moved inside her – he'll quickly realize that he doesn't want this. He wanted this – wanted her – last night, but this morning is a whole different ball game. This morning is them seeing each other without the haze of lust to soften reality. This morning, he won't want her. The problem is, she wants him. She wants to lie back down and curl up at his side, let the sun rise as she watches it paint his hair a lighter shade._

_She wants him, so naturally she has to walk away. _

_She dresses quietly, zipping up her pants with an eye out to make sure she's not rousing him, and contemplates the risks if she kisses his hair, just one last time, before she leaves. Giving in, she presses a kiss into the space between his shoulder blades._

_ "Thank you," she whispers, though for what, she's not sure. 'Thank you for giving me a glimpse of what we could be together', maybe. 'Thank you for that fourth orgasm'. 'Thank you for breaking my heart with the possibilities of what we could be'._

_When she slips out, she does her best to keep the door from making too much of a sound. At the exact moment she hastily wipes her eyes, inside the apartment Elias opens his and regards the empty side of the bed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he buries his face in the down pillow and does his best to hide._

I groan and press Delete, wiping the page clean of the bullshit I've just written.

It's bullshit. Free-write, my ass.

I hate writing blooming romances between my leads, even though Pam makes me do it in every book. _Give the public what they want, Susannah,_ she tells me with an exasperated roll of her eyes every time I slam a rough draft on her desk. By the third book, she didn't even have to crack it open to hand it back and order me to write in a steamy scene, or five. She might be thrilled that I've written one of my own volition, except there's no context and in my head, it's not at all about Cassandra Dalton, the main character in my latest book.

Frustrated, I push my laptop aside and proceed to smack my forehead on my desk several times. Having sufficiently vented some of my anger, I bury my face in my hands and try to take some calming breaths. I'm not good with angst, and I don't enjoy feeling this way. Usually, if I want somebody, I go out and get them. Most of the time, I don't want them for more than a night or two.

I want Eric for far longer than that.

I'm saved from my own thoughts by the sound of my phone ringing and I glance at the called ID before picking it up.

"The Mayor's office, please hold while I connect you," the impersonal voice informs me and I roll my eyes. I've known Arlene for as long as I've known Niall, but the bitch still refuses to acknowledge the fact that we know each other.

"Susie?"

"Hi Niall!" He is the only one that gets to call me Susie. "Still at the office at this hour?"

"It's tough, running a city."

"Uh huh. So they tell me."

"You authors think everything is so easy."

"Did you call to insult me or was there a point to this?"

"I was just calling to see how your latest stint is going."

Oh, if only you knew. "Really great! I'm really learning a lot."

"They treating you well?"

"I'm a big girl, Niall. I can take care of myself."

"Of course you can. I just wanted to make sure it's going well."

"It's going great. And I will not forget the _huge_ favour, Niall."

"Oh, you know that's not what I meant." I can hear the smile in his voice though.

"I know, I know. But as a token of my appreciation, let me take you out to dinner."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know that. This is just my excuse to get to see my favourite mayor."

We end up making plans for the following night and the mayor gets there before me, which would be mortifying had we not been friends.

"So how is it really going?" Niall asks me once we've been served out salads.

"It's great, Niall," I tell him for what feels like the eighth time, but he's giving me the kind of look that lets me know that _he_ knows something is up. "Well, I don't know. There's this detective. He's quite…"

"Displeased with your presence?" He asks knowingly. I suppose he would know, having been a cop himself.

"Yes. I mean, he's not a dick, he's just not very welcoming. Which is understandable because I am a bit of a burden. And there's no way I could have managed it if it hadn't been for you, which causes a fair bit of resentment." I shrug and take a sip of my wine.

"So why does that bother you? You're not one to care about what some detective thinks." He's right, I'm not. Except it's not just some detective, even though it should be.

"I may have a teeny, tiny crush." I hold out my thumb and forefinger as close to each other as I possibly can. "But it's no big deal."

"But a big enough deal that it bothers you."

I smile dismissively and shrug. "Oh well, I'll get over it."

"Susannah," Niall warns.

"Niall."

"When are you going to find a nice man and settle down?"

"When I find myself a nice man, _Dad_. Unless you have a little book of nice men I can flip through."

"Do you really want me to set you up? I can set you up."

"I don't want you to set me up, but thank you." I smile. "Dating season is closed before a book release. I'm just too busy to be a decent girlfriend, and then I have to spend a month on the road afterwards."

"Well, the offer stands."

"Well, thank you. I might take you up on that after April, then."

We have a really nice dinner, Niall and I. After Gran's death I'd been so lacking in the parenting department that it's incredibly nice to have someone who looks out for me like Niall does. I sometimes wonder what it must have been like for Gran to lose her son and daughter-in-law, and yet still manage to find the strength to raise both me and my brother Jason. We'd been such a handful, I am sure.

Now I wonder what it must have felt like for Niall to lose his wife all those years ago, when she had still been relatively young. I wonder if he looks at me as the daughter he never had just like he's the father I never had.

888

It's been a two weeks since Sophie-Anne admitted to her relationship with Madden, and things have come to a bit of a standstill. At work one night, I stay back with Northman and watch his calm, confident composure he has maintained all this time fall apart. He wishes his team good night and sits down across from where I'm doing some editing at the lunchroom table. Going over everything for maybe the thousandth time, he works himself up to the point of throwing his coffee all over the walls.

"_Fuck_! Hundreds of man hours and he's still going to walk away."

"No, he's not," I try to placate as I help him clean it up.

"Is that your professional opinion?" he sneers and tosses some soaked paper towels into the garbage.

"It's based on what I've observed in you. You'll find something. Don't give up because you're sleep-deprived," I say calmly and wipe up the last of the coffee. "You can take it out on me but I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of letting you wallow in misery."

"We've got _nothing _on him; nothing beyond a confession of some guy who didn't pass high school math. De Castro's got a whole team of top-notch lawyers."

"Then you're just going to have to try a whole fucking lot harder, don't you?" I snap back.

"Oh I'm sorry that we're not meeting your standards, Miss Stackhouse."

"Oh fuck you. You think it's my standards you're not meeting? I'm not the one throwing coffee at the wall. If you're frustrated, do _something_ about it," I yell, and his eyes flash dangerously.

"Then what do you suggest?"

"I don't know, how about you get off your high horse and accept the fact that this whole thing isn't about you. Sometimes shit happens, criminals walk off, and you have to live with it. And sometimes, you go home, drink a whole bottle of Jack Daniels, and get over yourself so you can get the job done."

He smirks. "Is that your version of an inspirational speech?"

"Fuck you. I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of cowering, no matter how much attitude you have. You want me to leave you alone? You're going to have to try a whole lot harder than that."

"You're not giving me the satisfaction?" He sneers and gets into my space, walking forward until I'm pressed into the wall.

"No," I insist.

"And you're not going to leave me alone. Who do you think you are?"

"I'm your friend," I tell him stubbornly.

"You're not my friend."

"I care about you," I insist.

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough."

"Which is what, exactly?"

He's so close, I can smell his shampoo. "That you're a damn good cop. That you have your pride, and a tendency to magnify everybody's tiny flaws as means for justifying not trusting any of them. And, it's killing you that I haven't given you a single reason not to trust me."

"I don't have a reason to trust you. You're not part of my team."

"No, I'm not. I'm just an author who hindered the investigation and jeopardized your team, and yet you're the one having a meltdown at one in the morning. I don't know what your damage is, but I haven't given you any reason to think little of me. So do us both a favour, and drop this lone wolf attitude 'cause quite frankly, I'm tired of it. You're not the only one working hard in this investigation."

"Oh you're tired of it, are you? Should I tell you exactly what you can do with that?"

"No, I'll tell you what _you_ can do with that, Eric Northman. You can take your condescending, dismissive attitude and shove it where the sun don't shine."

"Or what? You'll leave?" Now he's yelling too, and it's quite a sight up close. But no way in hell am I backing off.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you."

"I would, as a matter of fact." The corner of his mouth twitches up almost imperceptibly.

"Well, too _fucking bad_." I flex my fists and pick up on the way his face nears mine. "Don't you dare kiss me right now."

For the first time in the time I've known him, Eric smiles a smile unmarred by sarcasm or bitterness.

"What makes you think I was going to kiss you?"

"I write books for a living, remember? I've written this scene before, and don't you dare resort to fiction." I don't know what the hell I'm doing; he's attractive, I'm attracted. I'm dying to know what it would feel like to have him kiss me, but if he does it now, it will be less about wanting me and more about me getting him worked up.

And I have gotten him worked up; his breaths are coming rapidly and his eyes are flashing with a mix of anger and amusement. He is leaning on a hand he has pressed into the wall next to me.

"Are you saying you don't want me?"

"I'm not about to stroke your ego for you. I'm not interested in being a notch in your bedpost."

"What are you interested in, then, Ms Stackhouse?"

I sigh, hating what he's trying to do. For the first time since I was in high school, I want him to notice me. I want him to sit up and take notice of exactly who I am, and exactly what I'm not. As for what I'm interested in…

"I'm not interested in being this girl, Eric," I tell him quietly, slipping away to grab my purse and walk away. Half an hour later I'm pulling into my driveway, feeling more weary than I have felt in years. Climbing out of the car, I hear a whisper of fabric, like someone is walking nearby, immediately followed by a sudden pain to the back of my head. The last thing I register is the cool breeze on my face as I lay on the cool concrete, staring up at a figure whose face is concealed by the shadows.

888

I feel like I did when I was ten and I had to have surgery on my broken arm, because it feels like I'm waking up from anesthesia. It almost doesn't even seem worth it to wake up at all, but the last thing I remember is getting out of my car and curiosity is getting the best of me.

"Ouchy." My head is pounding like I have a terrible hangover.

"Oh my god, you're awake."

"Where am I?" I mumble and manage to open one eye. Tara scrambles to my side.

"You slipped on some ice on your driveway." She looks a bit amused. "Did you not anticipate the ice? And you insist on wearing those ridiculous heels to work. You're lucky your neighbours were coming home from a dinner party and found you."

"The Mathesons found me?" I groan and feel the place on my head radiating pain. That explains the person standing over me, and how Tara is here. I gave them her number in case they needed someone to call when I'm out of town. "Everything hurts."

"Yeah, you fell on your ass. What do you expect?"

"What time is it?"

She checks her phone. "Eight in the morning. I already called Zervos to let her know what happened."

"Did you go through my phone?" I pout.

"Yup." She is not feeling any guilt over this, I can tell. Regardless, I'm grateful that she spends the rest of the day in the hospital with me, on a Friday no less, while I'm told I have a mild concussion and a whole hell of a lot of bruises all over my back, and a sprained ankle I somehow got when I slipped. She drives me home when I finally get discharged in the early evening and orders in some fantastic Chinese that I gobble down in five minutes.

"Tee, you know you don't have to stay with me. Don't you have a date or something?" I'm totally bluffing. I'm feeling kinda needy here.

"No, come on, this is a great excuse for a girls' night! We've already had terribly unhealthy food, now we just need a chick flick." She grins at me with the enthusiasm that is trademark Tara and not long after she's popping _27 Dresses_ into the DVD player. We're about fifteen minutes in when the doorbell rings. Tara and I exchange a curious look and I insist I can get the door, a decision I regret the moment I open the door to find-

"Eric. I mean, Detective," I correct myself instantly. I've only called him Eric in my head. And now here he is, standing in front of me as I stand with my hair in a messy bun, no makeup and baggy sweatpants. I finger the hem of my ratty Western Canada High School t-shirt self-consciously.

"Eric is fine," he smirks. He's actually wearing jeans in a dark wash and a black t-shirt with a black leather jacket over it, and he looks painfully gorgeous as he stands there holding a bouquet of flowers.

"What are you doing here? I- I mean, come in, please. How did you know where I live?" He gives me a look and I amend quickly, "Cop. Right. My bad." I usher him into the living room where Tara has paused the movie and stands up to regard Eric curiously. I make quick introductions and after offering him a seat, I turn back to Eric, still waiting for my response.

"Zervos told us what happened. These are for you," he holds out the flowers and an envelope.

"You didn't have to do that!" The flowers are a gorgeous, a mix of roses and daisies, and the card inside the envelope is signed by everyone, even the lieutenant and the captain.

"Twining went around and got everyone's signatures." He grins.

"Well, thank you. Uhm, can I get you anything?" Tara, who has been regarding our awkward exchange, jumps up to get him some water, leaving us alone.

"I'm just going to come out with it; I'm sorry for yelling at you. I drank a whole bottle of Jack Daniels and, other than the hangover, it really seemed to help." Eric offers me a smile that I can't help returning.

"Forgiven. I'm sorry I yelled back."

"Forgiven."

Tara comes back with his water and he thanks her, glancing at the flatscreen TV screwed to the wall. It's paused on Katherine Heigl and James Marsden in a cab, and Eric quirks a brow at us. "Chick flick?"

"Hey, I have a concussion, leave me alone." I pout a little bit and over his shoulder, Tara gives me an exaggerated wink and a thumbs-up.

Eric chuckles. "Alright, then I'll leave you to it." He rises to his feet and I mirror him. "It was nice to meet you, Tara."

"You too, Eric."

"I'll walk you out," I say and hobble behind him to the door where he pauses just outside.

"You should take your time and rest," he tells me. "I promise I won't think it's because you're a prissy rich girl."

"Ah, but who would you yell at in the middle of the night?" I shoot back.

"Ohh, well-played," he laughs a bit and I join him.

"Thanks for coming, Eric. And thank everybody else, it was very sweet of all of you." I really mean it. I hadn't expected it at all, certainly not a personal visit from Eric.

"Don't mention it," he shrugs and seems to hesitate, for half a second, before leaning forward to kiss my cheek. I freeze but feel my face break into a grin that I have to tone down for fear of looking crazy. "Good night, Susannah." He gives me a look like he's gauging my reaction at using my first name, and that's when I make an executive decision.

"Sookie. Guys who yell at me and then bring me flowers get to call me Sookie." I'm flirting. Oh, I am so flirting.

He rolls his eyes and wishes me a good night before walking away. He gives me a little wave as he turns out of the driveway, and I wave back and shut the door.

"Oh my _god_." Tara hisses when I manage to stumble back to the living room. "He is _beautiful_."

"I _know_!" And sweet. So sweet. This is not helping my hopeless crush. It's getting dangerous at this point, and a little pathetic.

"He likes youuuu."

"He does not." I scoff and wave a dismissive hand.

"He brought you flowers, and a card." She waves the latter in my face and I take it so I can read the messages inside. Zervos, Lieutenant Edgington and Captain Bartlett have impersonal little well wishes written, but MacKenna and Twining have actually written a few lines, filled with playful remarks and happy faces. Northman's message is impersonal as well, which I find a little disappointing until I find the card tucked into the flowers.

_I hope you get well soon,_

_New York Times Best-Selling Author Miss Stackhouse._

_ - E_

_PS Thanks for the yelling._

Yup.

Totally hopeless and more than a little pathetic. I sigh and hit Play on the DVD player.

A few days later, after I'm sent home for wavering on my feet at the police station, Eric drops by to tell me there's been a breakthrough in the case.

"What?" I grin and hand him a mug of tea.

"We found proof that De Castro was there. At the library."

"HE WENT TO THE LIBRARY?" I beam and hop up onto the couch in excitement before falling over from the dizziness.

"Whoa there." Chuckling, Eric pulls back up.

"He was there? The night Madden died?"

"Yeah. He left the bathroom before Sigebert got to work, but he was there."

A thought strikes me and I frown. "But Sigebert didn't say anything about that."

"Needless to say, that nullified the deal we made with him," Eric says with a somber expression.

"But the evidence is solid?"

"Ironclad," he confirms with a nod. "There's security footage from a camera at the coffee shop next to the library. It shows De Castro, Sigebert and his brother Wybert going in and coming out together. That on top of the fact that we found Madden's cell phone in De Castro's car…"

"Eric, that's so great!" I gush and throw my arms around him. By the time I realize what I've done, I also notice his arms around my waist. I pull away reluctantly and settle back on the couch cushions.

"Yeah. Well I thought you would like to know, but I should get going."

"But you didn't finish your tea!" I can't help sounding disappointed. I've been writing nonstop for lack of a better thing to do, and I've been bored out of my mind.

"Don't you need to rest? I don't mean to intrude."

"Are you kidding me, all I do is sleep." I laugh at him. "I was going to watch some _Community_, if you'd like to join me?"

"I've never seen that." He settles back down on the couch and I put in the DVD before joining him on the couch, a respectable distance from him. We watch four episodes, both of us laughing pretty hard and bantering back and forth, before he looks at his watch and mutters that it's getting late.

"Oh, alright." I don't want him to leave but I don't know what I can say to make him stay. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Really?" He raises a brow and smiles.

"Yeah, I figure it's about time for me to come back. Assuming you don't send me home again," I add as I follow him to the door.

"Well if you don't fall over, I won't send you home." He turns around to face me once he's outside. If he kissed me right now, I would probably die of happiness. I don't know at what point I reverted to a 13-year-old, but this is just getting frustrating. I don't know why I won't just ask him out and get it over with.

"Thanks for the tea, and the television." He smiles.

"Thanks for the company," I grin back and once again, he presses a lingering kiss into my cheek.

"Good night, Sookie."

"Good night."

888

A week later I ring the doorbell and do my best to patiently wait for the door to open. It takes a long time, but Eric finally appears in front of me.

"Hi."

"Hey." He regards me curiously. He looks good, as is the norm, though I've never seen him in comfortable clothes. Now he's wearing a white v-neck t-shirt and black sweats, his hair unstyled for once. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to let you know that I talked to the mayor today. I'm done working with you. I wanted to tell you in person, and I wanted to thank you, for everything that you did for me."

There's no reaction for a long moment until he asks, "You didn't want to stay?" That is not a response I had been expecting.

"It was never meant to be permanent," I smile, unsure of what he's asking. "One case, that was the deal, remember?"

"There's still the trial."

"I'll be there for that. I just won't be with you guys." Of course I'll be there, I think to myself. The past month has been the most exciting of my entire life. When he doesn't say anything, I sigh and hold out my hand. "It was wonderful, meeting you and getting to work with you." He stares at my hand like he's not sure what to do with it, and just when I'm about to give up and walk away, he tilts my face up and kisses me. It's brief, and sweet, and when he pulls away I hesitate for only a moment before kissing him back. This time the kiss deepens, and soon we're standing in the hallway outside his apartment, making out.

"Would you like to come in?" he asks raggedly, except he doesn't mean 'come in'. He wants to know if I want to have sex with him, and I do. Dear God, I do. Before I can overthink why I shouldn't fuck him, I say 'yes'.

"Can I get you some wine?" he offers me once we're inside and a bit of awkwardness has seeped in. The apartment is plainly furnished with minimal colours. It's mostly Ikea furniture, as far as I can tell. It's pretty much exactly what I would have expected from Eric.

I stare at him. "No, thank you."

"Do you want to…?" He gestures vaguely down the hall, and I nod, following him into his equally minimalistic bedroom. Gathering me into his arms, Eric kisses me deeply, letting the passion build until we're impatiently tugging off our clothing.

"Do you have a condom?" I ask with my hand on the waistband of his boxers. His body is a work of art; I have to swallow back the drool.

"Yeah. I'm clean." He raises a brow at me.

"Are you implying I'm not?" I'm breathless, and practically shaking with my need.

"Are you?"

"Of course. I've also been on the pill since I was sixteen."

"You want to eighty-six the condom?"

I consider it for half a second. "If you give me anything more than an orgasm, I will shoot you in the jewels with your own gun."

"Who says I'm going to give you an orgasm?" His mouth twitches into a smile at the expression on my face. "Ditto, Stackhouse."

"Alright then. Why don't you put your mouth to better uses, Detective?" He grins and throws me onto the bed. I bounce on the mattress, and he drops his underwear before crawling on top of me to discard mine as well. I never thought I would find a guy who could be aptly described by most romance novels' descriptions of the male body, but Eric is definitely meeting those requirements in that particular department, and I try not to gape at how huge he is.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs and takes a nipple into his mouth, smirking perhaps at the ego boost I have unwittingly given him with my ogling. Still, I moan in gratitude and arch my breasts into his mouth. He kisses his way down my body and pushes my legs apart, using his thumbs to spread me open and give me a long lick. I take a moment to stare at the ceiling and try to reconcile myself with how wonderful he feels and, with another moan, raise myself up on my elbows to watch him as he gives me the best head I've been on the receiving end of in my entire life. Plunging a finger inside me when he senses I'm close, he rubs at my most sensitive spot and I cry out as I come, clenching around his finger. Crawling up, he directs himself to my entrance and meets my eyes as he pushes in. He's probably bigger than I have ever had, and I tell him to go slow. I'm still seeing stars as he works his way inside my body, and it takes him a while to be fully sheathed.

"Are you okay?" He strokes back my hair. I kiss the palm of his hand without even thinking about it, and wrap my legs around his waist.

"Don't stop."

My moment of full-blown panic when he'd dropped his boxers had been in vain, since he clearly knows how to use it. His strokes are thorough, hitting all the right spots, and I'm enjoying myself so much that I don't possess the brainpower required to make noise. I gasp and meet his thrusts, letting my hands travel over his gorgeous body; his muscular back and sculpted arms, his ass in particular. Groaning at the squeeze I give him, Eric buries his face in my neck and whispers my name. That particular word on his lips shoots sparks down my spine and I direct his mouth to mine.

"I'm close," I murmur against his lips. He groans in acknowledgement. "I want to be on top." He slows his movements and shoots me a small smirk before flipping us both over. I don't do anything at first, choosing instead to tangle my hands in his hair and kiss him thoroughly. He makes a small impatient sound and I grin, pinching his nipple.

"Is there something you want?"

"I want you to do what you're supposed to be doing," he laughs, a little gruffly, and thrusts up.

"Ah, you mean like this?" I move my hips against his and he makes the kind of sound I can imagine I'll want to hear many, many more times. Picking up speed, I rake my fingers down his chest before bending down to mouth at whatever bit of skin I can reach. Wanting to change my angle, I lean back and brace myself on his thighs, moaning loudly when he rubs at the perfect spot.

"I'm close," Eric grunts and drops his talented fingers down to my clit to help me along. I can feel the pressure building in my abdomen, and throw my head back as my climax hits me with the force of a hurricane. Swelling inside me, Eric jerks with his own orgasm and groans, back arching. Eyes closed, I flatten my palms on his torso and let the sensations wash over me as my body calms down. Eric, still breathing heavily, tucks my body against his side to press a kiss into my damp forehead and brush a finger up and down my side. I shiver.

"I'm cold," I say and thank him with a drowsy smile when he tugs the covers up over us. "That was really great."

"It was," he agrees. "I'm pretty sure I haven't come that hard since I was a teenager."

I giggle through my post-coital haze. "I'd agree, but I didn't lose my virginity until I was twenty."

"Seriously?"

"I had a very rigid set of morals."

"Too bad for your boyfriends," Eric muses and I grin, hoisting myself up to kiss him again. We do that for a while until I pull away, pressing a few kisses into his chest before tucking my face against his neck. He smells like lemons and something else masculine, and I fall asleep to awaken to the feel of his hand scratching lightly at my hip.

"What?" I mumble.

"I want you to stay," he murmurs into my hair, and I awaken a bit more.

"Duly noted."

"Sookie, stay," he insists and I frown at him.

"I'm not your dog, Eric. You want me to stay? Ask like I'm a person."

He sighs like he's bone-tired and gives me one of his classic Northman looks. The ones that make me feel like he can see right through me.

"Will you stay here tonight, Sookie?" I give him a look right back. I love him, I've probably loved him for far longer than I'd like to admit.

"I shouldn't have slept with you," I tell him quietly. Even though it was amazing, even though right now I'm considering climbing on top of him and making him make those sounds again.

"But you did."

"Indeed. I shouldn't have because I wanted it for different reasons." I admit.

"How do you know what my reasons were?"

"I don't, but I'm pretty damn certain that it wasn't because you love me." I'm not looking at his face, and when the silence drags on, I take that as my cue to leave. He doesn't move as I gather my clothes and head out of his bedroom to dress in the living room, away from his burning gaze. I'm buttoning up my blouse when he appears in the doorway, wearing only a pair of boxers. Work of art. He even has some tattoos; a flock of sparrows ranging in size on his right bicep and an anchor on the inside of the other. Now I'm thinking I really didn't appreciate it enough, when it was writhing underneath me and I had the chance.

"I wish you hadn't said that."

I can't help laughing a little at that. "I'm sorry. I don't regret telling you. It may have been selfish, but I needed to get it out there."

"Why?"

"Because I can't have casual sex with you." I press my lips together to keep from letting them quiver.

"If I wanted casual sex, I would have fucked Thalia," he points out, though I'm not sure what he's implying.

"You did fuck Thalia."

"I used to."

"So that wasn't casual?" I incline my head towards the bedroom.

"No. I don't love you, but it did mean something." He pauses. The calm way he tells me he doesn't love me stings but I have to appreciate his honesty. "And I still want you to stay."

I consider his words. "Is there potential?"

"Potential?"

"For maybe feeling the same way, someday. Is there potential, or am I just someone you're fond of that you want to keep fucking?" He releases a breath with a hint of a laugh and I bristle. "I'm not being needy. I'm inclined to hope, but I'd like to know before anything else happens if-"

"If there is any hope," he finishes for me.

"Yes."

"Yes," he repeats, and I cock my head.

"Yes what?"

"I do care about you."

I nod to myself. That's a start, I suppose. I don't know what possessed me to do something so crazy. Not only am I in love with the guy I just slept with, but I blurted it out like some pathetic low-self-esteem teenager.

Except he's just sooo preeetty.

"Okay," I mutter and pick up my purse, prepared to head out.

"Where are you going?"

"Uh, home."

"But you promised to stay here," he points out, moving to stand in front of me and taking my purse. Placing it on the couch, Eric gives me a little smile and begins unbuttoning my blouse.

"What are you doing? You still want me to stay?" My top gets discarded, draped over the back of the couch before his shockingly nimble fingers move to my pants. I realize in a dreamy sort of way just how passively I'm letting him undress me but I'm still sort of shocked that my love admission didn't result in me getting kicked out.

"I'm guessing you don't want to sleep in your work clothes." He winks and crouches down, tapping my legs one at a time to slip my slacks off as well. Now we're two adults standing around in our underwear and he ogles me playfully for a second before leading me back to his bedroom.

"Can I borrow a shirt to sleep in?"

"Eventually," he grins. "Can I kiss you, New York Times Best-Selling Author Susannah Stackhouse?"

"Your title isn't nearly as long," I laugh and he raises a brow. "You may." His lips are gentle, and I sigh into his kiss, letting my hand stroke up his spine.

I don't end up putting on that shirt for another several hours.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So I made a whoopsy in that I actually managed to fool some of you into thinking someone hit Sookie. There is nobody out to get her, and so many of you being convinced otherwise leads me to believe that the passage was not well-written. I'm not going to change it because I tend not to fix my mistakes unless they are technical, so hopefully you guys will forgive me.

Now, you guys get to meet Adrian, who would be my lover if he were real but alas he is not. Maybe some day we will find each other. Also, the song for this chapter is _perfect_. I highly recommend listening to it.

Keep the reviews coming, y'all! This is definitely my most popular story, which is great for my ego and I hope it doesn't stop anytime soon. You guys are all fantastic and lovely and worthy of your very own private Eric Northman's.

* * *

><p>I dare you to let me be yours,<p>

Your one and only.

Promise I'm worthy,

To hold in your arms.

So come on and give me a chance,

To prove I am the one who can walk that mile,

Until the end starts.

"One and Only", Adele

Chapter Three

"You did not!" Tara's jaw has fallen open in shock.

"I did." I hide my face in my hands.

"You slept with him, and then told him you love him?" She flags down a waiter and asks for another martini, even though I'm barely done my first one.

"It's not like I wrapped my arms around him and told him I never want to let go," I defend. "I told him it was a mistake, and that was part of the explanation why."

"Honey." My friend looks heartbroken for me.

"It was all a bit pathetic," I admit. Because it was. "But he was really sweet about it. I spent the night at his place and um, we had more sex."

He had woken me up in the morning and I had recoiled, figuratively, the instant I had recalled the previous night but he was having none of that.

"Don't do that." He had grabbed my ankles and pulled me into his lap, me without pants and him already dressed for work.

"Eric," I had muttered, feeling a bit embarrassed that I was in my panties, in his bed, the morning after we had sex and I told him I love him.

"Kiss me," he had whispered back.

"I have morning breath," I shook my head.

"_Kiss_ me." Frustrated, I had pressed a light kiss into his lips and he narrowed his eyes at me. "That didn't count."

"Why are you being like this?"

"Because I want a legitimate kiss before I have to go to work and deal with murder and tragedy."

"Can I use your mouthwash?" He had quirked a brow and nodded, and I had hopped off his lap to return a moment later with fresh breath. We had kissed, and he had held me for a long moment while I had let myself melt into his embrace.

Two days later, I can still smell his cologne and hear the tiny sound he made when I had nuzzled his cheek and kissed his ear. He had asked me if he could see me again.

"We're going for dinner tomorrow," I tell Tara now and she quirks a brow at me.

"Honey, are you sure this isn't some sort of hero worship? I mean, I know you say you love him, but are you sure it's not just because he's a good cop? I know you have a thing for men in uniform."

I take note of the careful expression on her face and don't even bother pointing out that Eric doesn't wear a uniform. "I know I don't have a good track record, I know you love me and you're just worried, but he's a good guy. And I am apprehensive about this, I am. We talked, and he was…" I drift off. It sounds so weak to say he assured me he could one day be interested. What am I doing, I should be at home in my sweats eating my way through a pint of Häagen Dazs, not having lunch whilst discussing how hopeful I am. I definitely shouldn't be planning on dinner with him. "I shouldn't have dinner with him, should I."

"Do you trust him?"

"It seems so foolish to say I do. And it sounds so terrible to say I don't. I mean, I trust him enough to tell him I love him, and sleep with him, but I don't know that he won't hurt me other than that I just can't believe he would. When he woke me up he kissed me and asked if he could see me again." The entire time it was about my choice, of whether I wanted to be kissed, or held, or to have dinner with him. He never made me feel like the pathetic girl who was in love with him. And he could have told me he loved me just to get into my pants, again, but he didn't. Even though I slept with him afterwards too.

Fuck.

I pause, sighing, and meet Tara's eyes. "I want to believe that it'll be okay."

My best friend of over ten years gives me a long look before reaching out to grab my hand. "Me too, Sookie."

888

Over dinner later that week I learn that Eric was actually born in Sweden but after the death of both of his parents within the same year, he and his older brother-cum-guardian Adrian decided to move to Canada. They settled in Calgary because of Adrian's interest in the oil industry and took a year to work and save up before Eric applied to the University of Toronto and got into Criminology. Finishing his degree, Eric moved back to Calgary and took the necessary steps to becoming a cop and, a few years later, became one of the youngest detectives on the Calgary police force. When I ask him why he moved back to Calgary when he could have stayed in Toronto he gives me a look and tells me he wasn't willing to leave his brother behind. I feel like a bit of an ass, because obviously he wouldn't abandon Adrian after everything, but to my relief he moves right past it to lighter topics.

After the first date Eric and I start seeing each other, much to my initial hesitance. I'm inclined to be insecure about his saying he wants to spend time with me when he knows I'm already in love with him; it's all a bit skewed, and I'm not sure what the hell we're doing at first. Eric doesn't waste his breath attempting to reassure me, which I appreciate, because my ambivalence is not one to be quelled by words but rather actions. And time.

I put quite a bit of thought into it and decide I have the time to offer, so when he shows up at my house with ingredients for a gourmet meal that he proceeds to cook for me, I just pour us wine and offer to chop vegetables.

We do keep things on the down-low, though that has more to do with us not seeing the need to advertise our relationship than it does with us hiding it. He's so incredibly easy to be with, not requiring any of those little maintenance things people expect from their partner even though he has no qualms against maintaining _me_. I take my time before sleeping with him again and he doesn't pressure me one bit, seemingly happy to just kiss or make out though we do relieve the pressure pretty regularly. It takes a couple of weeks, but I finally tell my fear to go shove itself.

"I want you," I murmur as we have dinner one night, and he eyes me cautiously.

"Yeah?"

I scoot closer to him in the semi-circle booth we have all to ourselves. "Yeah. You've been really great." I kiss his cheek and let my hand drift up his thigh. Eric makes a sound low in his throat and bends to kiss my throat, his hand slipping under my skirt. I chuckle, because I'm wearing tights and he looks oh so disappointed.

"Sorry, it's too cold for bare legs." Even though it's March, Calgary pays no attention to the change in seasons until it feels like it. "Do you want to come over?"

He does, and we spend the night having some pretty spectacular sex in my bed. Over breakfast the next day, I carefully bring up the inconveniences that accompany my celebrity.

"How bad can it be?" he asks, flipping a pancake before adding it to the growing pile. I can't decide which sight is more appealing; the stack of chocolate chip pancakes or Eric making breakfast in his underwear. His ass is phenomenal.

"It's not bad! I mean, that sounds terrible to say because these people are the reason I get to do what I love for a living instead of having to write movie reviews for the Calgary Sun. And it only gets crazy during book releases when I have to do book readings and signings and walk the red carpet."

"So what's the big deal?"

"It just makes men uncomfortable. Some fans cross the line and I can't freak out and be a bitch about it. Not that I would want to, because most of them have come so far and waited so long just to see me. So if a guy tells me he thinks I'm sexy I tend to return the favour, and then my hypothetical boyfriend tends to get pissed and it just all snowballs." I hop off my stool to pour us both coffee and fix them the way we each like them before getting the syrup and butter out. Meanwhile Eric fixes us both a plate of pancakes with a side of bacon.

"Thank you." I give him a kiss. "This looks great."

"You look great," he winks, eying my bare legs since I'm only wearing panties and a t-shirt.

"God, how are you so cheesy."

"It's because women don't actually listen to me speak. I just give them smoldering looks and let them ogle me as I cook them breakfast."

"Well, works on me." I shrug deadpan, despite being a little embarrassed that he caught me staring at him.

"And as for fans flirting with you and you flirting back, I understand. Within that context, I promise not to get angry. Especially if I'm the one you go home with at the end of the night, alright?"

"Alright," I smile. We finish breakfast, which is actually fantastic, and both clean up before curling up on the couch. I giggle when Eric blows in my ear and attempt to get away but his arms are locked around my waist.

"I _am_ proud of you, you know." He is dead serious all of a sudden.

"For what?"

"For being successful. Not that I had anything to do with it at all, but I'm proud of you for everything you've done."

"Well, not that I need your approval, but thank you." I let the corner of my mouth twitch so he knows I'm kidding, and he rolls his eyes before calling me a brat.

As the weeks progress I begin to enjoy just getting to know him. At work I had grown accustomed to his heavy, meaningful looks and I quickly learn to watch for those same looks when we're together. If my love had been borne of admiration beforehand, it now quickly evolves into pure affection and unadulterated appreciation for his companionship, I learn to read him just by the way he looks at me and how he carries himself, feeling proud for knowing that when he taps out the fingering for the chromatic scale on the euphonium – of all things – he's content and actually absentmindedly running through music in his head, and that when he holds me and nuzzles the back of my neck, he's more likely feeling worn down than horny.

As insecure as I may be about the emotional inequality in our relationship, I'm not blind enough to not see that he cares about me, deeply. So even though he never shows up outside my bedroom window with a bouquet of flowers to recite poetry, it's the smaller moments, like when he picks up my hand and kisses my knuckle without looking at me, or the way he lights up when he sees me that convey his affections.

"I want you to meet my brother," Eric tells me one night as we lie in his bed. I had been telling him about my own brother and our barely-existent relationship so I'm not too surprised that he brought this up; what I'm surprised to hear is what comes next. "I want you in my bed as often as I can have you, and I want to be able to tell women who hit on me at the bar that I have a girlfriend." I can't quite summon up the words so he adds, "And just for the record, my brother is my best friend, so me introducing you to him is a bit of a big deal."

"I get to meet Adrian?" I can't help grinning. I'm trying not to, really, but it's been quite obvious how important Eric's brother is to him, and I had been hoping to meet him at some point. Plus, we apparently just had the boyfriend/girlfriend talk and I didn't even have to bring it up. That's ten points for women everywhere.

"Yeah, if you'd like to. As my girlfriend."

"I'd like to," I beam, and his resulting smile is just as wide.

A few days later I pull my hand from Eric's and wipe it on my leggings, stopping in my path to shoot him yet another nervous look.

"Clammy hands," I explain with an apologetic smile. Eric sighs and moves to wrap his arms around my waist.

"Stop being so nervous," he murmurs with a kiss to my forehead and I take a deep breath in an attempt at calming myself.

"I'm just…" I exhale forcefully. "Well, you know." He grins down at me, and bends to capture my lips in a soft kiss that gradually deepens. I break away a second later, blushing at the realization that we're in the middle of the street. In the sketchy part of Kensington too, of all places, where we managed to find a parking spot in a back alley.

"It'll be okay," he tries to reassure me. "Trust me. Adrian's nicer, and you managed to tame me, so you of all people should have nothing to worry about." I laugh a little bit at his choice of words, because I really haven't tamed him. We've only been dating for a couple of months, after all.

"My hand is sweaty," I apologize when he reaches for my hand again and he rolls his eyes and grabs it anyways. I let him lead me to Higher Ground, the café Adrian had suggested we meet at, a few blocks away. I'd been here a few years ago, and it's stilly pretty much the same way I remember it with its mismatched chairs and blackboard of a menu mounted high up on the wall. We spot Adrian sitting in a corner – or rather, Eric spots him – but we order our drinks before heading over there. I clutch my mug of Nut'n Honey and pray to god I don't drop it as we make our way to the table.

"Hey man," Adrian greets, and I watch as he and Eric actually hug. He's a bit taller than Eric, I note in awe, and send a prayer up to Eric's long-deceased mother. Poor woman, god bless her. Other than that, they look pretty similar, though Adrian's features are a bit more angular and his eyes a bit less blue; he's basically a more severe-looking version of Eric, I decide, which is ironic because he is decidedly the warmer of the two. Even though Eric is quite affectionate with me, when we're alone, I mean.

"This must be Susannah," he grins and holds out a hand for me to shake. I try to subtly wipe my hand on my clothes before offering it to him and squeaking out a greeting. "It's good to finally meet you. It's been a bitch trying to get my brother to talk about you."

I can feel myself blushing, and Eric groans outwardly. "Thanks, Ace."

"Well it was." He shrugs as we sit down. "I hope you don't mind, I ordered some mac and cheese. I eat a bit like a fifteen-year-old," he explains to me.

"Runs in the family, I see," I smile and look at Eric. When he's at home, he keeps up a constant stream of consumption, to the point where I want to slap him sometimes. Asshole. "And please, call me Sookie." A waitress brings Adrian's lunch at that moment and he digs in as we make conversation. He's four years older than Eric, and lives with his long-time girlfriend and their two children up in Oak Royal, making his living as an engineer in the oil industry that is particularly big here in Alberta what with the oil sands. We chitchat a bit more until Eric's phone rings, and I tense up as I witness what I've come to recognize as the kind of phone conversation that results in him having to cancel plans.

"I have to go," he confirms my fears.

"Oh, okay." We drove here together in his car; I guess I'm leaving too.

"You can drop me off downtown and take my car home, if you want?" He offers, knowing full well what a bitch it is getting to my house with city transit.

"Eric, why don't you just go ahead? I can drive Sookie home later if that would work better?" Adrian quirks a brow, much like his younger brother, and looks at the two of us.

"Are you sure? I live in the opposite direction from you."

"Sure, I'm not about to give up the opportunity to have a one-on-one with a celebrity." He winks at me and I can't help smiling back.

Eric looks down at me, "Is this okay?"

"Yeah, if Adrian's sure." I shoot him a look and apparently he is. "You need your car." I add, to Eric, and smile reassuringly before accepting the kiss he offers me. "Be careful."

"Will do. I'll call you later." Eric quickly hugs Adrian goodbye and heads out, leaving me alone with the source of my anxiety in the past couple of weeks.

"Soooooo, who do you like?" He waggles his eyebrows, and his tone conveys even more clearly that he's raising a daughter. It's eerie; like having coffee with a slightly different version of my boyfriend, though I have to admit Adrian is far less anxiety-inducing than I had been anticipating. He's very easy to talk to and actually manages to make me laugh until I feel quite comfortable with him, and until he actually brings that question up again.

"What, you're seriously asking me who I like?" I have to laugh.

"Sure," he leans back in his seat with an easy smile. "I may be enjoying coffee, but you're still dating my baby brother and I have to make sure of some things, right?"

"Your baby brother, huh?" I can't quite reconcile Adrian's 'baby brother' with my hardcore detective boyfriend. "So you're just trying to make sure I won't hurt him."

"Of course. Tell me you care about him so I can move on to asking you if you can save my ass and sign me a book for Katie's birthday."

I chuckle. I have to shut down the rising annoyance with him for snooping into my personal life, since he's obviously not fishing for an inside scoop and is only looking out for his brother. I can appreciate that; I'm positive Tara gave Eric a talking to when I had left the table the one time we all went out for dinner.

"Adrian, I'm…" I'm at a loss for words; I don't know how to verbalize our complicated relationship; "I love him but he doesn't love me even though I suspect he does but I'm not about to take that leap and assume when I already told him how I felt and it did not turn out as well as I had hoped" just doesn't feel like it will fly well. Fuck it. "I love him."

"Well that was upfront."

"That appears to be the approach to take with you Northmans." I grin, and in a moment I later identify as the moment Adrian decided I deserve his brother, he grins back.

Later that night, Eric crawls into my bed and pulls me into his body, kissing my shoulder. I twist my body and press my lips to his. "How was coffee?"

"Good. Once I got over being terrified and stopped planning your swift death for abandoning me, I think he started to really like me."

"Hey, you said you were fine," he defends softly and I roll onto my back to kiss him again.

"What was I going to do, panic like I was doing in my head?" I smile. I'm not really that upset; after all, it did turn out fine. "Why did you get called away?"

He groans and moves to his back. "I don't even want to talk about it."

"Are you okay?" I ask, concerned, as I rest my head on his chest and he wraps an arm around me.

"Yeah."

"Wanna fuck?"

"Do you even know me?" I quickly shove off my shorts and move to straddle him, grinning when he moves up to capture my lips. We undress, and not long after he's pushing inside my body.

"Well hello, Detective," I tease and he rewards me with a sharp thrust.

"Miss Stackhouse," he grins back. We finish, within seconds of each other, and instead of falling asleep next to me, he sets up camp between my legs. I'm still so sensitive that I thread my fingers through his hair and come all of two minutes later, shaking violently.

"What was that for?" I shiver from the aftershocks and bury my face in his chest when he wraps his arms tightly around me.

"Adrian called me and told me you're a keeper." He chuckles into my hair.

"So every time your brother approves of our relationship, you're gonna go down on me?" I can't help giggling. Make me come a couple of times, and everything is funny. I giggle a bit more.

"I was just expressing that I feel the same way," he laughs back.

888

In early April Eric accompanies me to New York for the release of _Halfway to Hell_, my fourth book, and attends the release party, looking absolutely lickable in a classic suit.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper to him after we're forced to endure yet another round of ass-kissing.

"It's okay," he winks and leans down to capture my lips in a brief, firm kiss. "It's nice to see Author Sookie. It's kind of a turn-on."

I grin up at him as he asks the bartender at the open bar for two glasses of champagne. "In that case, I'll have to bring you to more of these."

"I do have a job." He chuckles and tugs on my earlobe playfully.

"A very full-time job," I add for him. "I know. Why is why I'm so grateful you're here, and that you're not freaking out. I don't usually bring anyone to these things, but it's nice." Eric perches on a bar stool, which actually brings him closer to my height, and pulls me to stand between his parted legs. I smile and let my hands stroke up the lapel of his jacket.

"Why don't you usually bring anyone?" His fingers tap at my hips in my skintight black cocktail dress. He eyes the neckline briefly and I hide my smile.

"I told you, it makes people uncomfortable."

"Right. Pussies." I laugh at his overdramatic cursing but I'm not given the chance to respond as Pam chooses that moment to drag me away to say hello to her boss.

Later that night, lying in bed after a round of really top-notch sex, he drops a bit of a bomb on me.

"Sook?" In response, I make some sort of sound that is somehow construed as a sign for him to continue. I love it when he calls me 'Sook'; it's sort of hilarious to me that he would shorten my name twice over. "I have something to tell you. Wake up for a bit."

Rubbing at my eyes, I prop myself up on an arm, but not before pressing a kiss into his chest. "What is it, Baby?"

"I used to be married."

"Oh." I frown and shake my head to clear the sleep haze. "What happened?"

"Nothing." He shrugs. "We grew apart. We weren't right, I guess."

"How did you meet? How long were you together?"

"We met in university. She was a Psych student and we got married as soon as we graduated and moved back to Calgary. And I filed for divorce five years later, just before I made detective."

Quickly, I do the math in my head. I know Eric made detective when he was twenty-eight, and he's thirty-two now, so they've been separated for four years. "What was she like?"

He gives me a long look like he's trying to gauge my reasons for asking, and I rub his chest reassuringly. "Her name was Natasha. She was pretty; dark hair, green eyes, had a good sense of humour. Or I guess she did when we were happy; by the end, neither one of us were showing too much humour. She was getting her PhD, and I was working my ass off to make detective, and I guess we stopped giving enough of a crap to support each other." I digest his words for a moment, nodding in acknowledgment, before I speak.

"Eric, I can't decide whether or not I should be unhappy that you're just telling me this." We've spent quite a bit of time together so it's not like he wasn't given a chance. And marriage is a pretty big detail to leave out, especially if it was a few years ago and no longer a painful recollection. However, Adrian's protectiveness is starting to make a bit more sense now.

He rests a hand on mine, on his chest. "I haven't talked to her in four years. I don't think about her unless something reminds me because we didn't exactly end on good terms and she's no longer a part of my life. I wasn't going to tell you unless I decided I was serious about you."

"And when did you decide that?" I have to admit I'm a bit disappointed that he hasn't been serious about me all along, even though I'd subconsciously known all along that he hadn't been. Clearly, just because I had already decided I loved him and wanted to be with him didn't mean that he felt the same way all along.

"About the time I introduced you to my brother," he admits. "It just took me a while to get to this part."

I nod slowly as the words sink in. "Is there anything else you're trying to find a good time for?" He can definitely tell I'm not very happy right now and shakes his head, tightening his hold on my hand. "Well, thank you for telling me. I do appreciate it." And I do. Really.

"You're upset with me."

"No, I'm not." I offer him a little smile.

"Come here." He tugs me atop his body and I tuck my head against his neck, enjoying the sensation of his arms around my naked waist.

"I do love you, Eric. You don't have to say it, but I haven't said it for a while and I just want you to know." Stroking my hair, he presses a kiss into my hair.

"I'm sorry I can't say it, but I think you'd rather hear me say it when I'm a hundred percent sure I mean it. You deserve it from someone who means it because you're fantastic."

"You hated me when you met me," I chuckle.

"I didn't hate you. I resented the pretty blonde woman who thought she could barge into my job just because she wrote a story a couple of people liked." I lift up my head and find him grinning.

"You were right, if by 'a story' you meant three, now four, and if by 'a couple' you meant about twelve million copies sold altogether."

"Yeah alright, off you go." Pushing me off his body, Eric rolls on top and pins my hands above my head while I giggle a little hysterically. "You're a show-off," he tells me, kissing my neck. "Nobody likes a show-off, Miss Stackhouse."

"You like a show-off," I point out, biting my lip playfully.

"I do. I happen to be seeing this one gorgeous show-off with the most amazing set of breasts and this smile that I can't get enough of, and a tiny little sound she makes when-" He bites lightly at the flesh behind my ear and I moan instantly. "There it is."

"Guess what?" I ask seductively.

"What?"

"I'm wet."

"I don't believe you. Let me see." And with that, he kisses his way down my body to set up shop between my legs. He's amazing at this, and more than willing to go down on me when I want which is often because I love oral sex. I love the feel of his hot tongue on me, inside me, and his warm breath against my skin. And Eric has the most amazing, expressive azure eyes that burn with lust when he watches across the length of my body to see what he's doing to me. Propping myself up on my elbows, I fight the urge to throw my head back, wanting to maintain eye contact like he always wants me to.

"I'm close, don't stop."

In the end, I turn out not to be able to keep my eyes on his when I come moaning his name, but I'm pretty sure he has forgiven me, especially when he fills me sharply to draw out another moan. I make an incomprehensible sound and wrap my limbs around him, urging him on with the movement of my hips. When I come for the second time, I muffle the sound against his neck and tighten my hand in his hair when he jerks inside me. I love the feeling it gives me when he comes inside me and I love how relaxed he is above me right now as we kiss lazily and he moves off to wrap me in his arms.

"You're amazing. I can't get enough of you," he whispers into my hair and I tighten my arm around his chest.

"Right back at you. I don't want to go home." A peek at the clock tells me it's barely nine. We have another eighteen hours in New York.

"Then don't. We'll move here."

"Sounds legit. I love New York, but I don't think I could live here. It would take the novelty off."

"Yeah, I like Calgary. It's…"

"Ineffable?" I suggest and smile when he chuckles.

"Good AP word. You should write for a living."

"I'll think about it." I try to stifle a yawn and fail. "Sleepy time. Good night, Baby."

"Good night, Sook." I bury my face in his chest and fall asleep, safe and warm in his arms.

888

With the release of the book comes the book tour which I will have to go through alone, since there's no way Eric can take three weeks off to tour the continent with me. Not that I'll be seeing much of the continent anyways. I have two days in Calgary before I have to fly back out to sign books in Barnes & Noble in New York the day of the release. I do a whole round of TV spots on The View and Good Morning America, and even a brief one on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon who is a pretty big fan and asks me to sign his book backstage, a goofy grin on his face as he thanks me afterwards. After that come spots on both local and national shows in Toronto, Calgary and Vancouver before I hop on the other side of the border down to LA, San Francisco, Seattle, Phoenix, Dallas, Chicago, Washington D.C. and a few places in between. It's all exhausting and rather lonely after the month I've had with my boyfriend, even though I have Pam with me. In a move I had not anticipated, Eric texts me on the mornings he knows I have to get up for early morning shows to catch the before-work audiences, and wishes me a good interview. At the end of the three weeks I throw myself into the first-class seat next to Pam and ask the air hostess for a glass of wine once we've taken off.

"Liquor in the morning?" Pam eyes the glass. "Trouble in paradise?"

"What paradise?" I snort. "I haven't been home in three weeks."

"Like you haven't been texting like a couple of teenagers this whole time. "

"That does not solve all problems, Pammy. You know all the chicks you've been bagging in every city?"

"Oh, so you're horny."

"Yes, I'm horny." I turn in my seat. "And for the first time in months I'm happy, Pam. Even though I haven't seen him in weeks, he makes me happy. I miss him." I pout and earn myself a roll of her eyes.

"You're disgusting, Susannah."

"I know." I sit back and cross my legs, pulling a magazine out of my purse to flip through. "I'm okay with that."

Six hours later Pam and I walk out of the gate to find Eric standing there with a sign for Sookie Stackhouse.

"What are you doing here?" I can't help the huge smile on my face. Not only did I not anticipate him picking me up, I'm surprised to see he pulled the cop card to get past security to meet me right at the gate.

"Picking up my girlfriend." The corner of his mouth quirks upward and I throw my arms around him, not caring that I'm a thirty-one-year-old woman canoodling with her boyfriend in the middle of an airport.

"I didn't know you were going to be here," I murmur into his mouth, pulling away at the exaggerated sound of Pam clearing her throat.

"You two are embarrassing, so I'm going to go." She kisses my cheek and nods at Eric. "I'll see you later."

Once she's gone, I look back at Eric and shake my head at the sign he's holding. "That was incredibly sweet of you. Thank you."

"You're very welcome. I was going to write your actual name but I thought I might look like a crazy fan." We're already garnering some attention from the people waiting at the gate for the next flight.

"Wouldn't want that," I smile and kiss him again. Eric offers to take my carry-on and we begin heading towards customs and the luggage carousels.

888

Adrian and I go for coffee a few more times once I'm back in town, mostly because we get along pretty well, and he invites Eric and I to his house for dinner one night at the end of April. I spend two hours trying to decide what to wear, growing frustrated that Eric is being no help at all and resorting to calling Tara who talks me down from the metaphorical edge. I settle on skinny jeans and a flowy turquoise shirt that I wear under a black cardigan. It's actually pretty warm out this time of year, a rarity for Calgary, which is nice. I bite my lip when Eric emerges from his shower and grabs clothes from his overnight bag, making a show of turning his back to me to drop his towel.

"You're sexy," I grin from where I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed once he has tugged on his underwear and black jeans. Eric leans over me for a brief kiss and we end up making out for a bit with him on top of me, still shirtless. I slap his hands away when he reaches for my pants and he climbs off with a groan, shooting me a dirty look as he finishes getting dressed.

"Will you spend the night?"

"Yeah, I was planning on it." I get a brief kiss and then he's pulling me downstairs and into his Corvette. It's a long drive to Adrian's house in the far northwest corner of the city, and I sink down in the bucket seat and try to relax. I'm not as nervous as I was when I first met Adrian, but this is a whole different ballgame involving a whole meal and two kids and someone else Eric considers family with the potential to dislike me. Without looking at me, he takes my hand to press it to his mouth before holding it in his lap. I smile out the window and scroll to a cutesy song on my iPod. He laughs quietly when the song begins playing.

"Jason Mraz again? Really?"

I lean over to kiss his cheek. "It's my favourite." It's 'Lucky_'_. He squeezes my hand but doesn't say anything else for the rest of the drive. It's still light out, and nearly six, when we pull into the driveway outside the upper-middle class suburban home. The community is relatively new, and really very white-picket-fence, minus the literal picket fence. I take a deep breath as Eric leads me up to the front door and knocks, and he gives me a comforting smile at the sound of two small voices shouting "I'll get it!" from the other side of the door.

"Let's not terrify our guests, okay?" Laughs Adrian before opening the door.

"Uncle Eric!" Two tiny voices shout and launch themselves at my boyfriend who lifts them both up to throw over his shoulders. The little boy, Riley, is giggling his tiny butt off while his older sister, 6-year-old Paige squeals and clutches at the material of Eric's shirt. Adrian shakes his head and kisses me on the cheek before inviting us both in. Inside, there's a playroom immediately to the right where Eric puts down the kids while I hand over the pie I baked earlier.

"This looks great! You are a woman of many talents," Eric's brother laughs, thanking me. I turn around to find both kids regarding me with curiosity once they've gotten over their uncle's presence.

"Guys, this is Sookie." Adrian makes the introductions. "Sookie, meet the tiny tornadoes. Guys, say hi." They both do, identically polite.

"Are you Uncle Eric's girlfriend?" Paige asks me curiously.

"Yeah, I am." I crouch down. "It's very nice to meet you, Paige." I offer her my hand which she shakes tentatively and I give her a smile before turning to her brother. "And you must be Riley. You look just like your daddy." And he really does. He has the Northman eyes going for him, good-looking little kid.

"Nice to meet you." He's the one to offer me his hand now, and I shake it with a grin, looking up to find Katie approaching us from the back of the house. She's really beautiful, and I can see by the way Adrian looks at her that he's crazy about her. Eric gives me that look sometimes.

"You must be Sookie!" She seems equally nervous, and I remember yet again that it's something of a normal reaction since I got published.

"She brought us pie," Adrian grins. Eric told me that was his favourite dessert earlier, and now he shoots me an I Told You So look that I return.

"Aw, thank you so much! Come on in, can I offer you some wine?" We follow her to the living room and she steps into the adjoining kitchen to pour us all some wine. Paige, who had been holding Eric's hand, scuttles closer and without seeming to even think about it, he pulls her into his lap. It smells heavenly in here, and I sip at my wine and make some small talk with Katie while Adrian, who is apparently the cook in the household, tinkers around in the kitchen.

"Oh, gosh, and thank you for the book," Katie blurts out at one point, meaning the book I signed for her, for her birthday. Adrian winks at me as he takes a seat in a La-Z-Boy and watches his son struggle with crawling onto his lap.

"Need help, bud?" Adrian asks, looking a little entertained at the way Riley is grasping at his knees, trying to hoist himself up.

"I got it!" He throws a tiny leg over his dad's knee and manages to settle himself, looking a little flushed.

"It was no problem at all." I tell Katie, "Happy much belated birthday." She smiles and a little while later we all move over to the dining room.

"Everything looks great, Ace," Eric tells him once we're all settled down, Riley having serenely allowed Eric lift him onto his high chair. Paige takes the seat beside me, forcing Eric to sit across with Riley between us at the head of the table. Katie gives her a pointed look and Eric and I laugh, assuring her that it's fine even though I do feel a little insecure. Under the table, Eric's foot brushes up my calf and I smile, swatting it away. Dinner is fantastic: butter chicken and curry beef plus a bunch of sides because apparently Adrian loves Indian food, and I obediently pass Paige whatever she politely asks for while Eric similarly caters to Riley's needs.

"You guys, don't hold back, tell our guests what you need," Adrian rolls his eyes at his kids, and the sarcasm goes right over their tiny heads.

"Okay, Daddy," they chorus while Eric and I hide our smirks.

"It's no problem, really," I promise and that seems to placate him.

We finish up, my offer to help getting instantly shot down by Adrian who orders me to get my butt over to the couch where Riley, having decided that I'm cool after all, shows me a bunch of his pictures. Eric's a pretty big presence in their lives if the pictures are any indication, and when I eventually look up I find him regarding me with soft eyes. We spend quite a bit of time there, the adults talking while the kids come and go, taking their pick of whose lap they want to sit in and more often than not settling on the novelty of Eric and I. Katie and I talk about our similar careers; hers as a high school English teacher and mine as a writer, and we bond over nerdy stories of being English majors. At one point, I look down to find Riley, who had been watching Finding Nemo in my lap, has fallen asleep.

"Somebody got comfortable." Adrian chuckles, shaking his head. "Sorry about that. Let me take him from you."

"No, it's fine!" I assure him. "My niece does this all the time. I think I'm just comfortable."

"Well if you're sure. How old is your niece?"

"She's five next month. My brother and his family live in Toronto though, so I don't get to see her often." And Crystal, Jason's wife, is a vapid bitch that I don't enjoy seeing. Regardless, we stay for a bit longer before calling it a night. Eric limited himself to a glass of wine before dinner so he's fine to drive, and we thank Adrian and Katie again for the delicious meal. Wishing a very drowsy Paige goodnight, I watch as she insists on giving Eric a hug and I'm more than pleased to oblige her when she holds out her arms to me as well. The Northman brothers alternate kissing the other's girlfriend on the cheek, and Eric also presses a kiss into Riley's head where he is now asleep in Katie's arms. Calling out 'goodnight', Eric reaches for my hand as we walk to the car and I shoot him a smile as I buckle up. Adrian waves us out of the driveway and not long after I'm drifting in and out of consciousness as we head to my house where I only awaken once Eric opens my door.

"Wine makes me sleepy," I murmur, leaning into him as we walk and groaning when I realize I have to fish for the keys in my purse. We use the bathroom and change into comfortable clothing before slipping under the covers where Eric pulls me into his arms. I murmur in contentment, fitting my body to his.

"You made tiny fans out of my brother's kids," he whispers with a little laugh.

"They're pretty amazing," I shrug. "I'm a fan of them, too."

"And I'm a fan of you. You were really great with them. Thank you for that."

I pull my head back to regard him. "I could say the same to you. I didn't know you were so good with kids, it pushed all my maternal buttons. I would be all over you if I wasn't exhausted." I grin and he kisses me. "Love you," I mumble into his lips and he presses his body to mine. I don't know if he says anything else, but I'm pretty much passing out so I just give in and fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I kinda love Eric and Adrian. It's okay to love both brothers, right? Society condones that sort of thing? No? Alright then.  
>This chapter is chockfull of lemons and gooey happiness, which I feel kinda bad about but I promise shit goes down next chapter.<br>In other news, you guys and your reviews/story alerts/favourite story add's are pretty frakking fantastic. I love hearing from you guys, even if I don't respond, so please do keep it up.

* * *

><p>I never thought I could love anyone but myself.<p>

Now I know I can't love anyone but you.

You make me think that maybe I won't die alone.

Maybe I won't die alone.

"Die Alone", Ingrid Michaelson

Chapter Four

For my 31st birthday in July, Eric surprises me with a weekend trip to Banff, and we spend three days hiking and fucking. Well, we _say_ we'll go hiking, but end up having sex on the bathroom floor. At one point I whip out the fuzzy handcuffs I bought a while ago and he spends a considerably amount of time laughing at their ineffectiveness, or maybe he's laughing at me for even thinking he'll let me use it. We do enjoy the hell out of them though, taking turns to tie each other up and I even go so far as to threaten to handcuff Eric when I go out to get food. When it's my turn, I surprise myself by getting off on the power trip it is, especially since I have a feeling Eric has never done this before either. I grasp at the sheets as I come later, the handcuffs abandoned as we murmur barely intelligible endearments to each other once he has finished.

"Is this okay?" he asks, meaning his weight atop me.

"I'll make you move in a little while." I smile and kiss his hair, brushing my fingers through it. His five o'clock shadow is rough against my chest and I sigh in contentment, feeling happy and sated. "Thanks for this. It's been a great birthday."

"Well, I was going to keep this a surprise, but you seem to think all I did was book us a hotel room." Eric grins, lifting himself up a little bit to regard me. "I made dinner reservations, and I bought you a dress that you can decide whether or not to wear to dinner."

My mouth falls open. "You didn't have to do that!"

Eric hops off the bed and retrieves a BCBG garment bag from the suite's walk-in closet. "I thought you'd like it."

"I didn't even see that in there!"

Shrugging, he says, "I'm paid to be sneaky. Or something. Open it." I do as he says, resting the bag on the bed and tucking the black material away so I can get a better look at the blue dress. It's short and made from a flowy material in a periwinkle shade that I instantly decide I adore. The waist is gathered by a thick band of black satin and it's strapless with a sweetheart neckline. If it were any more poofy it would look tacky but as it is, it's gorgeous and sophisticated.

"Oh my god, Eric. This is too much."

He smiles, "You don't even know how much it cost."

"I don't need to; a hotel room, dinner, and a designer dress? And I know nothing is cheap in Banff, so don't pretend it was."

Wrapping his arm around my side, Eric kisses my cheek and nuzzles it. "Do you like it?"

"Of course, it's beautiful." And it is. I love it. In my head, I'm imagining the next event I can wear it to. After tonight, that is.

"I noticed you wore a lot of BCBG."

"You noticed?" I quirk a brow.

Grinning, he amends, "I noticed you spend a lot of time staring at the store whenever we go for coffee." Ah. There is a BCBG store by the Starbucks in the mall downtown, near the police station. If I meet Eric for coffee during work, chances are it'll be at that Starbucks and I guess he must have noticed my interest. "Just thank me and tell me if you'll wear it to dinner. I have a tie that matches," he adds with an adorable wink. Twisting in his arms, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and stretch up to give him a kiss in thanks and tell him that yes, I'll wear it tonight.

"Happy birthday, Beautiful."

It's later that night when I look over to where he's asleep on his stomach with an arm thrown over my waist, his breath blowing softly on my bare shoulder, that it occurs to me: he must love me too. Eric's not one to stay with me out of a feeling of obligation, and his actions speak volumes. Especially tonight. He was a gentleman all night, and spent most of our time in bed catering to my needs even though I'd insisted he didn't need to. I fight the urge to press my thumb into his perfectly full lips. He has such a gorgeous mouth, even though I would never tell him for fear of being teased.

And I love him. So much.

He mumbles something incoherent and moves over to throw a leg over my hips and tuck his face against my neck. I giggle and entangle my legs with his as I drift off, happier than I have been in ages.

Three months later, I slide into a very uncomfortable seat and try not to be nervous as Eric is called up to testify in front of the court. He spent the night at his house and I haven't really seen him in a couple of days, but today he looks good. Well-dressed and confident. He's clear and succinct, and I can tell judging by the jurists' exchanged looks that they're eating it up. The judge announces a break for an hour after his testimony and I join the crowd in spilling out of the courtroom to get two cups of watery coffee.

"Hey you," I grin up at Eric when I find him, and he kisses me 'Hello' as I hand him the second cup.

"Thank you." He sips at the coffee. "Are you hungry? I couldn't eat breakfast."

"Were you nervous?" I can't help smiling. I rarely see him be anything other than in control. Well, except for when he hands over the metaphorical reigns during sex. "I could eat."

"I usually don't eat breakfast when I have to come to court. There's this amazing Hungarian place a few blocks away if you're okay with power-walking."

I shrug. "Sounds good. Lead the way."

Hands clasped, we walk the three blocks to the small, unassuming restaurant on the far west edges of downtown. The food is fantastic and I decide that we'll have to come back another day, under less stressful conditions, because even if he's not saying anything about it I can tell Eric is stressed.

"You did great on the stand," I tell him once we've settled the bill and he puts an arm around my shoulders, pressing a kiss into my cheek.

A couple of weeks later, after what feels like forever, Felipe De Castro is found guilty and given a life sentence. He rats out everybody else who has ever been of any influence within the mob, since none of them jumped to testify for him during his trials, which means that Sophie-Ann and her little girl can live without fear. She meets Eric at the station several days later and tells him that she's moving to Victoria to raise her daughter in peace and away from the horrible memories of Calgary. I can see her point, and would envy her a little bit if she hadn't just lost her lover in a brutal way. She had told us – 'us' meaning Eric's team – that Felipe had told her, afterwards, what he had done to Madden, and threatened her own life and her daughter's life should she ever make the same mistake again, hence her unwillingness to talk to the police at first. I can't imagine how it must have felt to have been stuck between such a rock and a hard place; grieving the loss of a loved one while fearing for the loss of her child.

"She's been through so much," I comment sadly as we watch the news reel of Sophie-Anne thanking Eric and his team outside of De Castro's sentencing. I snuggle further into Eric's embrace. "Can you imagine?"

"No, I can't," he murmurs and gives me a look that tells me he's glad he'll never have to. "Thank for coming to all the trials."

"Oh, you thought I was there for you?" I bite my lip. "Well, this is embarrassing."

"Yeah, yeah, shut up," he laughs and puts his mouth to better uses, effectively silencing me.

888

I make a strangled screaming sound and drop my head to bang it lightly against the table, completely forgetting there's a police detective in the house until he comes running in.

"What happened?"

"Writer's block," I pout. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He relaxes and moves to crouch beside me at the desk.

"Well, what's the problem? Maybe I can help."

"Trying to repay me for getting involved in your job, huh?" I smile and offer him a kiss that he passes on. "What?"

"You know how I completely support you when you stay in your office for three days straight and don't pick your phone until I drop by?" Like he did today. I nod.

"Yes?" I'm beginning to see where this is going.

"My support doesn't mean you smell any less."

"Gotcha." I slump back and sigh as I scroll aimlessly up and down the Word document.

"How about this, you go shower, maybe put on something a little less… hobo-esque," he eyes my baggy sweats and oversized flannel shirt with mild disdain, "and I'll give this a read, see if I can help you. And then we can discuss it as I make you dinner."

Ah, a break sounds good. "Can I get a kiss then?"

"You can get a kiss now, I was just trying to make a point." He grins and I lean in for a little peck.

"Wanna fool around once I smell clean? I'll shave my legs."

"You had me at 'smell clean'," he laughs and slaps my ass as I walk away. Half an hour later I'm wearing a pair of cropped leggings and a fitted t-shirt, mostly just to bug Eric since I'm still really not showing much skin. He'll appreciate what I'm wearing underneath though, so he will be quite happy in a bit.

"Hi Sexy." I come up behind him to wrap my arms around his waist and he sticks out his butt to rub it against my stomach. Goof.

"Pineapple chicken burgers sound okay?" He has my grill/panini press ready to go, and the chicken is already covered in sauce.

"Sounds delicious. Want me to make some salad or something?" Eric inclines his head towards the freshly-washed cucumbers and tomatoes by the sink and I set to work, peeling and chopping and dousing with olive oil and lemon juice. I yelp when Eric squeezes my ass as he walks by and turn around to raise a brow.

"I was just doing some research," he responds cryptically and I suddenly get it.

"You were checking to see if I'm wearing underwear."

He eyes my ass in between piling the toppings onto our burgers. "You're either wearing a thong or not wearing anything at all. Either way, I'm going to be all over you as soon as you're fed."

"How about a sneak peak then?" I suggest, pulling out plates to dole out the salad, making sure to leave room for the burgers that Eric adds on. While he sets out the plates at the island, I get out a bottle of wine and two glasses, filling them both. Once everything is ready and Eric has taken a seat, I slip a thumb under the waistband of the leggings to pull out the strip of bright red lace, making sure to catch his eye before tucking it back in. As I take my seat, I make a point of checking Eric's pants for the hard-on I know is going to be there because my boyfriend is a sucker for red lace.

"So, what did you think of the chapter?" I steer his attention back to the topic at hand and he takes a big gulp of wine.

"It was great," he tells me rather sincerely. "What exactly are you struggling with?"

"Okay, so Cassie is being framed, right? Her fingerprints are all over the door handle and the lamp that was used to bludgeon Jenna Hader to death, plus there's evidence that she took the microchip with the security codes to the Pentagon mainframe. She has no alibi because she was spending the night with Elias and she can't tell anyone that they were together because they'll both get fired."

"Because he's her handler," Eric adds and I nod in confirmation. This forbidden not-quite-love scenario in my story is kind of a fuck-you to Pam; she wants sexy scenes in my story, she's getting unrequited romance-free stuff, nothing happily ever after. Having my main character sleeping with her handler when they could both get fired seems appropriate.

"I just can't figure out why someone would frame her."

"It's clearly personal, right? If it was just a cover-up for the theft, they could have picked someone who was not the CIA's very own Sydney Bristow."

I file away that little reference for the future, wondering if my boyfriend has a secret crush on Jennifer Garner. "Yeah, it's not about the codes."

"Although whoever it was put a whole lot of effort into the framing if they were willing to steal government property."

"So it was someone on the inside. They'd have the resources," I nod, liking this discussion.

"Who on the inside would want Cassie locked up? A jilted ex-lover?"

I smile at 'jilted'. "That's too obvious, although I could probably fill up a couple of chapters with that as a potential lead."

"Could it be Elias?"

Huh. That'd be an interesting twist. I pop some cucumber into my mouth and consider what it would mean for the future of the character. It would be a pretty good ending to the series though; if Cassie fell in love with him, his betrayal would hurt her both because of her faith in the CIA and her faith in him. I'd be quitting while I'm ahead with five best-sellers out of five in the series.

"What would be his motivation if they're together?" I ask and then grin. "Are you thinking he's with her _because_ he was going to frame her?"

"You must be rubbing off on me because I am."

My face lights up as I begin running through all the little details and the story begins coming together in my mind. I jump to my feet and then freeze, remembering that I can't just run back to my office.

"Go on," Eric smiles knowingly. "It's okay."

"No, no it's not. We made plans." To fuck, but plans regardless. I sit back down.

"Which we can reschedule. Go write it all down before it goes away. Go on." He inclines his head back towards the stairs and I bite my lip because that is exactly what I want to do.

"Are you sure? I promised you sex."

He shrugs. "I'll consider my achievement of the day getting you to shower and eat actual food. It's okay, I'm not mad." He starts cleaning up the remnants of our dinner. "But I'm going to go home, okay?"

"Noooo," I wince. "Shit, I feel even worse now." He'd dropped by since we hadn't seen each other in a few days and I had been pleased but, now that I think about it, I've been a terrible girlfriend and an even worse hostess. "I ignored you all day."

"It's okay, I get it. I'll see you when you're all written out." Having loaded everything into the dishwasher, Eric bends down to give me a kiss before putting his winter coat on. I follow him, feeling a mix of gratitude, guilt and utter embarrassment.

"Call me whenever, okay?"

I nod. "Thank you so much for dinner and the brainstorming. And I am really sorry, Eric. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Just go finish that book so I can get laid again, okay?" He laughs and wraps me into his arms before heading out into the freezing October night. As terrible as I feel, I still drag my ass upstairs and quite easily bang out over forty pages and a rather detailed outline of the rest of the book. By the time I'm done it's just past eleven and I deflate when I realize that Eric is most likely already asleep, so even phone sex is out. The next evening, Eric lets himself into his apartment to find a trail of rose petals leading to the bed, and me wearing a lacy negligee and matching black boyshorts.

"Wow, hi."

"Hello." I smile seductively, rubbing my thighs together. "I'm ready to fulfill my promise, Mr Northman."

"Did you finish up?"

"I got to a place where I felt comfortable taking a break. Besides, it's Friday night, and I owe a certain detective something."

"It's Twining, isn't it. You're sleeping with Twining." He feigns anger and I play along, nodding guiltily.

"I totally thought this was his place. Awkward. I guess now I'm just going to have to sleep with you," I sigh, even though I'm being distracted as Eric shrugs off his now unbuttoned shirt to rest his hands at his belt. Moving to the foot of the bed, I reach out and he steps closer so I can undress him the rest of the way, his clothes slipping into forgotten piles on the carpet. Eric's hands brush over the material of the tiny nightgown and I stroke him lazily as we kiss for a few minutes, until he's completely hard and I can break the kiss to take him into my mouth. He's as big of fan of oral sex as I am, which I enjoy; not that I had ever expressed it in high school but I actually like giving blowjobs and Eric's enjoyment means he's more than willing to return the favour. It makes me feel good to hold that power. I feel in control. Sexy. More specifically, I like giving them to Eric because his reactions are such huge turn-ons. Now, he groans and weaves his fingers loosely through my hair, watching my lips wrapped around his length.

"Come up here," he murmurs and I kiss my way up his abdomen and pull his arm away to kiss the anchor tattooed on the inside. Repeating the gesture with the sparrows on the other bicep, I finally straighten up to smile at him, arms slipping around his shoulders as our lips meet. I moan into the kiss and tug on his hair, giggling when his hands drop to squeeze my ass and one moves further down to rub at me. "Sit back," he orders and a moment later I'm on my back at the edge of the bed with my legs thrown over Eric's shoulders as he buries his face between my thighs. I close my eyes and let the sensations wash over me as he quite enthusiastically returns the favour with his strong arms wrapped around the outside of my thighs. With a particular stroke of his tongue I cry out and grab at his hand, clutching it as I come all of thirty seconds later.

"Baby," I coo when he scoops me up and ends up on top of me at the center of the bed. His mouth is glistening, from me, and I reach to wipe it away with my thumb but he quickly turns his head and kisses the palm of my hand. "That was amazing," I whisper. He didn't even use his fingers because I have a thing with not wanting his fingers when I can have another part and now, Eric guides the part in question to the right place and pushes in slowly, watching my face as he sinks in all the way. A while later with his face in my neck and my body spasming, Eric comes with a groan and pulls out to fit my body against his, my back against his chest. As our breathing evens out and our bodies cool, he slips a hand under the soft, sheer material of the negligee I'm still wearing.

"I think this is the only thing I'm okay with you wearing to bed."

"Apparently. You didn't even bother taking it off," I chuckle.

"I wanted to fuck you with it on," he whispers huskily in my ear and I shiver as I pull his arm even more tightly around my waist.

888

**Two Fairly Eventful Years Later…**

I pick up Thai on the way and let myself into the apartment with a grin on my face.

"Eric?"

"I'll be right out." He emerges a second later, his hair wet from the shower, and greets me with a kiss. "Want to pick a movie while I set everything out?" he asks, taking the bag from me.

"Oooh, you are going to regret this," I tease. He hates most of the movies I pick, because they're usually along the lines of what he gets to deal with on a daily basis at work.

"Honey, be gentle." He sighs and kisses my temple, brushing past me. I pick a DVD from his full wall of movies and pop it into the system before taking a seat. Eric comes back with wine and cutlery, and sets them down next to the food before shooting an apprehensive look towards the TV.

"Lord of the Rings. You're safe." Not the regular edition either; the extended version with the fancy case and the hours of additional footage. I love that he's a bit of a nerd, under the cold hard detective exterior.

We practically lick the containers clean, done before the hobbits have even left the Shire, and I cuddle up to him after finishing my wine. He wraps an arm around me and sighs in contentment, and I smile, losing myself in what is arguably my favourite story in the whole wide world. Eventually though, I pick up on the tension that is creeping into Eric's body, and look up at him with concern.

"Everything okay?" I stroke my hand over his stomach.

"Yeah, I'm just thinking," he assures me with a quick smile and I nod, a bit hesitant. When he speaks a few minutes later, it's with the kind of tone I rarely hear from Eric, like he's feeling unsure and maybe vulnerable.

"What's up, Honey?" I cock my head to the side.

"I love you." He's not even looking at me, choosing instead to stare at our joined hands in his lap.

"That's it?" I scoff. "You had me worried, you big jerk!" I punch him in the arm and shake my head in disbelief. Only Eric would tell me he loves me the way most criminals confess murder.

"You don't seem surprised." I glare at him and lean away as he continues, "Or flattered, but I'm mostly confused by that first thing right now."

"Well, you better fricking love me at this point. We've been together for like two years." He wouldn't have stayed with me for that long without loving me. _I_ wouldn't have stayed with _him_ if I didn't think he loves me, even though my own confidence had surprised me and made me question myself a little bit for sounding like one of those girls who are convinced their boyfriends love them when they're in fact being used.

But the truth is that Eric has never been big on words, and I understood that. His actions screamed his feelings anyways, everytime he would cup my face and kiss me, or the way he touches me when we make love.

Now, he regards me for a moment before cracking up. "You silly, insane girl. Most women would have gotten excited. I was expecting a kiss, and you scoffed. If I didn't know any better I'd be pretty offended right now."

I roll my eyes. "If I didn't know any better, I'd be offended that it took you two years to tell me you love me, when I told you I loved you the first time we were together. So there you go." I shake my head in disbelief and return to the movie, muttering to myself about the nerve of some people.

"Sookie?" He murmurs. I can see him staring at me in my peripheral.

"Mm hmm?' I refuse to look away from Aragorn. He really is very attractive.

"I'm in love with you." Begrudgingly, I look over at him and can feel the corners of my mouth twitching upwards into a smile when he leans forward to kiss my cheek. "I love you. Tell me you love me too."

I look at him through narrowed eyes. "Can I get back to you in two years?"

He chuckles his warm throaty chuckle, and I smile back just a little. "Miss Stackhouse."

"Yes, Detective Northman?"

"Tell me," he insists with a stubborn glint in his eyes, reaching for the remote to pause the movie.

"I love you." Of course I do. He's the best thing that has ever happened to me, with his wordless looks and sly smiles. And he hadn't run the other way when I had told him, the first time we had been together. That was a lot, because who the hell does that? The fact that he hadn't cut me loose had let me know that he was invested too, though maybe not as deeply as I had been.

"Now let me make love to you."

"You're really being very demanding tonight. All I wanted was Vietnamese food and a movie, maybe some snuggling. But you're being all loving and lusty." I'm teasing and he can see it in my eyes. My breath catches in my throat when he leans forward for a kiss, and I can feel my heart beat faster with his proximity. He still manages to elicit the most amazing reactions from my body and now I tangle my hands in his hair, sighing when his mouth travels to my neck. Lying down, I let him climb on top of me and moan when he returns his attentions to my mouth.

"You're really very beautiful," he murmurs. "I don't tell you often enough."

"You tell me plenty." Even if he doesn't, it's hard not to know I'm beautiful in his eyes, with the way he looks at me. He unbuttons my blouse and unzips my pants, tugging my breasts out of the lace to latch onto my nipples. I watch him lave attention onto each breast and play with his hair, though my eyes are glued to the tongue action he has got going.

"Want you," I murmur and kiss him tenderly when he meets my lips.

"Stay with me," he says with a kiss to my cheek.

"I was planning on it," I incline my head towards my overnight bag.

"Not just tonight." He shakes his head.

"What are you saying, Baby?"

"I want us to move in together. Officially." Not that we spend many nights on our own in the first place, yet I have to take a second to regroup.

"Where would we live? Here?"

He gives a little shrug. "Your place is bigger. Or we could get a new place of our own."

I think about it for a second. It's hard, being with a cop; a lot of cancelled plans, a lot of late nights, but we've made it work for two years. He gives me his time whenever he can spare it, knowing how much I have to put up with, and it's a good thing that I was under no illusions before we got together in the first place. I'd known how hard it would be but he's worth it. Obviously, or we wouldn't have lasted this long.

And I love him, not only more than I did in the beginning, but also in a different way. More meaningful, maybe. Deeper. "Okay."

He grins widely. "And I want to stay with you. For the rest of our lives."

This one is out of left field. "Are you proposing?"

"I don't know," he brushes his hand along my collarbone, gaze avoiding mine until I rest my hand atop his. "We've never discussed marriage."

"You didn't even tell me you love me until now, Eric," I smile. "Would you want to get remarried? Or did your first marriage put you off of the whole idea?" He smiles and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear and strokes the flesh behind it, where my tattoo is. He loves it; we're both closeted tattoo whores, though I'm more hesitant to get inked for fear of regretting it. The delicate fountain pen I got behind my ear is one I can't ever imagine regretting, since I got it after my first best-seller. Each sparrow on Eric's right bicep represents a captured killer, he'd explained after we'd gotten together, dragging me along to get one after the De Castro case. I'd never thought I'd find tattoos so attractive until I saw Eric's. Now, he takes my left hand and strokes the most important finger, shooting me a knowing look.

"I'm thinking, a tattoo instead of a ring. We're not really very conventional, so it might be appropriate. What do you think?"

"You haven't even asked me yet!" I laugh. "Who says I'm going to say yes?"

"Don't you love me?" He asks with a playful smirk and bends down to kiss my neck before rocking his hips against mine. He's hard, and I tug on the hem of his shirt until he sits back to pull it off.

"I guess so."

"Reassuring. Marry me, Miss Stackhouse."

"Eric," I sigh. I'm not sure about this. I don't understand how he went from not even telling me how he feels about me to asking me to marry him. "What took you so long?" I have to know. I don't doubt that he does, or that he has for a while, but I need to know what held him back.

He places a kiss on my sternum and sighs back. "I don't know. I couldn't say it at the beginning, and later I just… I figured you knew."

"Oh." I can't help sounding disappointed.

"What is it?"

"I guess I don't understand because I like telling you that I love you, even though I know it's nothing new. I just like expressing it." And then I want to smack myself because I know, better than everybody, that Eric rarely expresses himself verbally. "Oh, don't even dignify that with an answer." I bury my face in my hands.

"Hey, it's okay," he pulls my hands away to smile at me. "I love you."

"I really like the sound of that," I murmur with a blush.

"Then I'll say it more often." He moves forward for a kiss. "But not in public, okay? Probably not on the phone."

"In text messages?" I grin, feeling like we're negotiating.

"Sure. And greeting cards."

"And during sex?"

His eyes darken with lust. "Yeah."

A couple of hours later in bed, I roll over and flick his nose so he jolts awake. He hadn't really been asleep, more like snoozing in his post-coital haze.

"Didn't I tell you not to do that to a cop? You could get shot."

"Well who would you move in with if you shot me?"

"Whom," Eric corrects and I smack his chest.

"Don't correct the author. We hate that."

"Yeah, yeah, what do you want from me?"

"You should move in."

"I could sell this place," he nods drowsily and I shrug.

"It's up to you. You could keep it as an investment. Rent it out or something."

Eric gives that some thought and then smiles. "I can list it next weekend!"

"So does that mean you're moving in next weekend?" I grin at him.

"You don't think it's too fast?"

"It's not like we just started dating," I argue. "Do _you_ think it's too fast?" Eric pushes me onto my back and throws a leg across my hips and an arm across my chest.

"Nope," he murmurs into my neck.

"Christ, you're huge," I chuckle. His body is pretty much completely covering mine. Eric glances down the length of his body.

"And I'm not even hard."

"That's not what I meant, ya jerk!"

"Pity." His hand drifts up and down my stomach, pausing occasionally to cup my breast or pinch a nipple.

"Hmmm, what are you doing, Lover?"

"Trying to see if you're up for another round."

"Why don't you keep going and I'll keep you posted?" I suggest and he quirks a brow before moving his mouth to my breasts. My fingers tangle in Eric's hair and I rub his scalp without really realizing what I'm doing until he looks up to grin at me.

"Are you giving me a massage?"

I burst out into a breathless laugh. "I guess so. Keep doing that." Eventually I tell him he can stop and push him onto his back to take him into my mouth. He doesn't let me finish him off, even though I try to just to mess with him but he manages to hold out and tugs me up his body

"You can't force me to come," he chuckles breathlessly once he has pushed inside.

"Is that teasing? Are you teasing me during sex?" I quirk a brow and Eric instantly gets this look of horror on his face.

"No. No I'm not, please don't do it."

"Too late, here it comes. Oh no," I sigh in feigned remorse and relax my body, letting my arms and legs flop back onto the mattress. "Here it is. Married Sex."

"Motherfuh…" Eric grumbles and sits back.

"You don't have to stop." I try to suppress my smile because he's just so much fun to mess with. I'd warned him once about teasing me mid-sex, so he really can't blame me.

"Sookie…"

"Hey, you know what to do."

He sighs. "I'm very sorry for teasing you. Will you go back to being an active participant in sex?"

"I thought you'd never ask," I giggle and hold out my arms.

"I die a little bit on the inside everytime you do that." Eric crawls back on top and I wrap my legs around him.

"I know. Learn your lesson and stop making fun of me." I moan when he thrusts in.

"Or what?"

My arms fall from around his shoulders and he instantly takes it back. "Are you sure? I could just lie here and you can-"

"Nope, I'm good."

888

The next Friday I meet Eric at his place to start boxing things up, and we actually end up pushing through most of the night after ordering in a large pizza and brewing a pot of coffee to keep us going. By 4 AM we're all done, which is pretty great since we were expecting to spend all Saturday packing too. This means that tomorrow afternoon we can take some of the boxes over to my house and save the bigger shelves and whatnot for Sunday when Adrian is bringing his truck to help us out. Exhausted and sweaty we crawl into bed and fall asleep, not awakening until it's past eleven. Or at least I wake up at that point and drag my sticky, sore ass to the shower and emerge clean and happy to change into a pair of shorts and a tank top. Everything is packed up so I leave Eric a note and head out to get some food, taking a few of the garbage bags to the chute on my way out. I phone to order take-out from Boston Pizza and pick up some mochas from Starbucks, making sure to get them extra-hot so they last. The food is ready by the time I get to BP so after remembering to ask for plastic cutlery I pay and head back to Eric's, walking in to find my boyfriend in the shower. I set out the food on the coffee table and wash my hands, sitting my ass down just in time for Eric to walk out of the bedroom.

"Hey, pretty lady," he calls happily.

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine today." I smile. "Did you get my note?"

"I did. Thanks for the food. Is that coffee?"

"Mocha."

He takes a sip and gives me a long kiss. "Hmm, good morning."

"Good way-past-morning to you too, Mr Northman. Now, I got the Jambalaya Fettuccini and the Cajun Rice Bowl 'cause I figured we both like both. Which one do you want?"

"Oh, tough choice." He eyes both dishes rather greedily and I laugh.

"Well, we don't have plates, but we can each eat half and then switch, okay?" I pat his knee and he gives me another kiss before digging into the fettuccini. The next morning I open the door to find Eric's brother.

"Ace!"

"Hey there, lilla syster." He hugs me and actually lifts up my body to swing me around a little bit. I haven't seen him in ages since they went on a family vacation to Mexico for spring break and before that I'd been super busy with preparations for my next book, which will be out at the end of May. I invite him in and offer him coffee from the traveler I just picked up from Starbucks.

"How was your vacation?"

"Pretty good until Paige got food poisoning."

"Oh my god, is she okay?"

"Oh yeah. She was miserable for a couple of days and then got over it." He smiles. "Where's my baby brother?"

"Oh how he loves it when you call him that," I laugh. "He went to get the vacuum cleaner from my house, but he should be back any minute. We just spent like three hours cleaning up." I'm already beyond exhausted since Eric proved to be useless when it comes to cleaning the way I wanted him to, which is just as well since I probably will not be any help when they're moving couches and shelves. Once Eric comes back it takes them a couple of trips to get everything to my place – soon to be 'our place' – while I vacuum and finish up cleaning the place. Once I'm done I put everything that is left in the apartment by the door and lie down spread-eagle in the middle of the living room, stewing in my own filth and wishing I had left myself a towel and some shampoo so I could take a shower. At least I don't smell too terrible, so that's a plus, and the coffee has cooled down to the point where I can pretend it's iced coffee. Having finished what's left of it, I call Eric.

"Hey Hon, we're just about to head back."

"Baybeeeeeee?" I ask in my cutesiest voice and he chuckles.

"Yeeeees?"

"Will you buy me a frappuccino from Starbucks?"

"We were going to get some Vietnamese for dinner."

"But I still want a frappuccino," I say, knowing he can hear the pout in my voice. "Pweeeease? I just finished vacuuming and it's so hot here."

"Alright, alright." He sounds amused. "What do you want? And what do you want for dinner?"

"Something spicy. And a grande green tea frap."

"Yes ma'am. We'll be there soon-ish."

"Thank you, Baby. I love you!"

"I love you too," he laughs and I freeze a little bit, which Eric picks up on. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You just said you wouldn't say it on the phone and I just… You know what, nevermind."

"I meant on the phone in front of other people. Adrian does not count." I hear Adrian protest in the background and Eric chuckles.

"Oh, okay," I grin.

"Love you," he repeats with plenty of humour in his voice.

"I love you too. Get my food and get over here," I order and we hang up. I get my iPod out of my purse and lay it on the floor beside me, letting the tinny-sounding music pouring out of it entertain me. I sing along quietly for a while before eventually getting up to dance along to "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go", making a bit of a fool of myself. I'm on "A Little Less Conversation", making a rather laughable attempt at the signature Elvis hip move which is exactly when I hear laughter behind me. I wheel around and find the brothers Northman standing in the doorway with the biggest grins on their faces.

"What do you know, Elvis lives," Adrian smiles.

"Well, I usually make people pay to watch me do that, so consider that a private familial show." I give them both a somber nod and hit Pause before skipping over to take the food from Eric, give him a kiss on the cheek and flopping down on the floor.

"Are you guys just going to stand there or what?" I ask when I look to find them both still standing there, and they shake it off to join me.

"Most women would have been embarrassed," Adrian observes.

"I'm not most women." I smile at Eric as he hands me my Starbucks. "Thank you, Baby. Which one is mine?"

"The Satay Beef Vermicelli."

"Oooh, I knew there was a reason I stayed with you." The three of us have lunch in the empty apartment, my boyfriend occasionally looking around at what used to be his home. I reach out at one point for his hand and he gives me a rather genuine smile that melts away my worry over him having second thoughts.

After lunch we load up the truck with the single chair I'd kept at the apartment to help me clean above the cabinets and toss out the last of the garbage before locking up. Eric and I drive back in my car while Adrian follows, and after accepting my offer of a quick drink, he departs to leave us unpacking in what has become _our_ home. The boys have already tossed out the Eric's couch and a couple other pieces of furniture that he will no longer need, which is fine except I have another plan. The next day, Monday, Eric comes home to find me standing in the middle of our obviously couch-less living room.

"What's going on?" He asks, noticing that the dining table is gone too. "Did we get robbed?"

"No," I bite my lip, suddenly second-guessing this whole thing. Maybe this was not such a good idea. "Uhm, I threw it out."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want it. I mean," I take a deep breath. "I picked out that couch by myself. I personally went out to the store and tested a bunch of couches and picked that one, but I don't want it here if this is going to be our home. I want to go to the store with you and have you complain about us having to shop, and I want us to argue over the kind of couch that we want and then I want to come home and put _our_ couch here. This may have been my house but I want it to be _our_ home." I watch him take it in and offer him a tentative smile, hoping that he's not going to be annoyed.

"Same for the dining table?"

"Yeah. And, it was part of a set with the couch so I figured I should get rid of it too. I was thinking we could get a new bed too but I didn't get rid of it because we need somewhere to sleep." I chuckle nervously and finally get to witness Eric's face breaking into a huge grin.

"I love you, Stackhouse," he tells me quietly and I exhale.

"I love you too."

"And I'm going to hate every second of shopping," he adds, making his way toward me to take me into his arms.

"Good. I'm okay with that as long as it doesn't instigate a fight," I grin into his kiss and he chuckles, arms tightening around me.

"That was a pretty big leap of faith you took there."

"Yeah that hit me as soon as you walked in. Thanks for not freaking out."

"That was very sweet of you. Thank _you_."

"You're very welcome."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Look at this incredibly quick update! And sixteen whole pages too! I expect reviews, people! Here be lemons, and a fair bit of angst, so do let me know what you think.

* * *

><p>You always hurt the one you love,<p>

The one you shouldn't hurt at all.

You always take the sweetest rose,

And crush it till the petals fall.

You always break the kindest heart

With a hasty word you can't recall.

So If I broke your heart last night,

It's because I love you,

Most of all.

"You Always Hurt The Ones You Love", Michael Buble (cover)

Chapter Five

I find out about the pregnancy at about the worst possible time.

What with the upcoming release of my fifth book and Eric moving in, it takes me three weeks to even realize I've missed my period. Not that I have much of one anyways on the pill, but I sense the not-quite-right vibe and, adding that to the fact that I've been beyond horny for weeks and that my boobs have gotten a bit bigger lately, and I'm pretty sure I'm knocked up.

Panicking seems like the best course of action, and I spend ten minutes with my head between my knees, hyperventilating in our empty house, until I manage to call Tara and explain to her what the hell is going on. She arrives, half an hour later, with three different boxes of pregnancy tests.

"Where is Eric?" She sinks down next to me on the couch.

"At work," I smile weakly. "He won't be home until later."

"Does he know?" she asks, but she knows the answer already. I shake my head. "Okay, well, let's get some water in you and then we'll see what we have to do."

"I can go now. " We rip the boxes open and she hands me the three sticks.

"You should just pee in a cup. I don't know how you want to pee on three different tests."

"That's probably a good plan." I would never have thought of that, but we have some plastic cups in the pantry from some family outing last summer. I grab one and head to the downstairs bathroom where I do what needs to be done, dump out the pee and toss the cup before opening the door to find Tara sitting on the stairs. She offers me a smile, wrapping an arm around my waist to give me a reassuring squeeze. I've lined up the pregnancy tests on the counter, face up, and Tara hands me the instructions for each. They all have different signs for a positive, and I lay out the sheets in the same order above the tests. I check my watch.

"One more minute. I think I'm gonna take a walk."

"What, around the living room?"

I shrug a little bit and do a lap around the main floor before running up and down the stairs. Tara, leaning against the bathroom doorway, tells me it's time.

"Did you look?" I feel the blood drain away from my face.

"No." She politely waits outside as I step in and, taking a deep breath, I look at the tests. The first one has two lines. Positive. My heart relocates to the pit of my stomach. The second one; a plus sign. Positive. Taking in a shaky deep breath, I check the last one. It actually uses words, and the display is showing the one I've been expecting.

"Oh god," I whisper and Tara joins me. "I'm pregnant." I toss everything into the trashcan and take it out to the massive bin we have in the garage. Inside, Tara has very helpfully fixed me a cup of peppermint tea, and I can't help thinking that under normal circumstances it would have been black tea, with honey.

"It's okay. Haven't you always wanted to have kids?" She rubs at my back and my eyes fill with tears.

"Yeah. But the timing never seemed right. Except I'm thirty-three now, and Eric and I have never talked about it."

"You've been together for two years." She gapes a little bit and then pulls herself together.

"He didn't even verbalize that he loves me until a couple of months ago." I sob a little bit and sip at the tea to distract myself.

"Oh honey. I didn't know about that."

I shrug. "It wasn't really a big deal. I knew he loved me, but it took him two years to figure it out. And he's moved in, and I don't know what's going to happen."

This is terrible. I sob a little bit more and tense at the sound of a key in the lock.

"That's Eric." I wipe hastily at my face.

"I should go. Call me if you need me, okay?" She kisses my head when I thank her, and greets Eric as she brushes past him. It takes Eric ten seconds to notice the mug of tea, my smeared eyeliner, and the way I'm avoiding his gaze.

"Hey," he calls quietly and hangs his coat up to join me on the couch.

"Hi Hon, how was your day?" I turn my body towards his and hide behind my mug.

"It was good. We got a lot done so I left early." He's humouring me with the small talk, I can tell.

"That's good." He takes the mug to set it on the coffee table, and leans forward to kiss me, softly.

"Why were you crying?" His hand squeezes mine and I move closer to kiss him again. He tastes like peppermint gum, and his lips respond to mine with so much passion that it's not long before he's pushing into me. It's not until we're finished that I begin thinking about the events of the past couple of hours, and I move to get dressed and stand up, facing where he is following my lead by tugging on his boxer-briefs.

"What's wrong?" he asks, concern etched into the features of his face.

"I'm pregnant." I blurt out without any preamble. "I know we haven't talked about having kids, but I just took three different home tests." I take my pills on a timer, so I guess we were just part of the 0.9% of people that it fails for, which is just that much more unfortunate. Then again, nobody who takes the pill would be thrilled at the prospect of getting pregnant, so this is just moderately unfortunate.

My anxiety spikes to brand new levels when I note that he's not looking at me.

"Say something."

Running a hand through his hair, he finally meets my gaze. "I have to go." I run through that sentence a few times, as he disappears upstairs and I sink onto the couch. He emerges a couple of minutes later with an overnight bag, the one he used to bring here when he still had his apartment.

"I just, I need some time to think," he explains and I use my mug of now-cold tea as an excuse to head to the kitchen, not letting the tears fall until I hear the door shut behind him.

888

Three days later, I meet Adrian for coffee.

"He's an _asshole_," he snaps as soon as I've sat down with my caffeine-free drink. This is going to rapidly become a pain in the ass; I am usually such a huge fan of caffeine. And sushi. And drinking. God, I wish I could drink right now.

"No, he's not." I sigh. "I guess he's staying with you?"

"Yeah. And giving me attitude about it everything I ask what he plans on doing. The kids are thrilled that he's around, though."

They would be. "And he's okay?" I haven't heard anything from him. Not a phone call, not a single text. If he'd been a grown up about it and kept in touch with me, I would be less pissed. And hurt. And exhausted. Tara had been prepared to disembowel him when I told her.

"He's fine." Adrian's eyes soften. "You don't deserve this. You put up with a lot when it comes to him."

"It didn't seem like a lot until now, because he put up with a lot too." I shrug. "This is my baby. By walking out, he gave up his right to make a decision. I want him to be here but whether or not he is, I'm still going to have a baby. I saw my doctor today." She had taken stock of my symptoms and the three home tests I told her about, and given me a grin. The blood test had just been a formality; I'm definitely pregnant.

He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. "Which reminds me, Katie sent these over for you." He passes over the canvas bag full of pregnancy and child-rearing books.

"You guys throwing in the towel?" I smile.

"Oh yeah. Two is more than enough." Adrian rolls his eyes. "Don't get me wrong; they're great. Spice of life and everything, but I'm 38. I don't think I can handle another six months of sleepless nights and changing diapers."

"Well, thank her for me. And thank you." It's really wonderful to have his support; he's become a really good friend to me. Him and Katie both. Paige and Riley started calling me Aunt Sookie not long after they met me.

"It's no problem, Sookie. You're an amazing person. And he loves you; he just needs to get his head out of his ass."

"Yeah, he does."

"Tell you the truth, I think he regretted walking out as soon as he did, but he's just too proud to admit it."

"Well, he better get over his pride soon because I'm not going to call him. He said he needed time to think. It's his job to call. Or show up."

He laughs quietly and inclines his head. "I guess I should mention that I panicked when Katie got pregnant with Paige."

"What is this, a Northman thing? Love 'em and lose your shit when you knock 'em up?" He'll have to forgive my bluntness, but this is fucking stupid. I just get a roguish grin.

"Yeah, but I went for a walk and came back an hour later and proposed. She said no, but it was the thought that counted."

I hadn't known that. I always figured marriage wasn't something they wanted and they were content to just live together. Share their lives. "I didn't know that."

He shrugs. "Told me she didn't want my pity proposal. I loved her, but who was I to argue with her. And we're fine the way we are; the kids don't care that she's not Mrs Northman as long as mommy and daddy love each other."

"Eric proposed to me," I say quietly. Was it really two months ago? Things have been so hectic lately. I'm going to New York in a few days, for the release party of _Fortress_. For the first time, I consider the very real possibility that I will be making the trip alone.

"And you said no. What, is _that_ a Northman thing?" He chuckles. "Why did you?"

"Because it took him forever to admit he loves me. I mean, I never doubted that he did, but the fact that it took him that long to actually tell me?" It had hurt, a bit, as much as I had tried to rationalize it to myself. I guess I didn't say it often either, but it sucked to tell him and not have him say it back, time after time. Apparently we both figured the other person knew, except he had given me less reason to think so. I'd been with him for two years as a show of good faith though, if you wanted to look at it that way.

And then I got pregnant and he peaced out.

Adrian shakes his head with a sigh. "I don't know what his problem is."

"That makes two of us," I joke, weakly. The rest of the time is spent talking about things that have nothing to do with my strained – and potentially breaking – relationship, the two of us choosing instead to focus on lighter, happier things. The following Friday I pack up and head to the airport, trying not to recall the last time I took this trip, two years ago, with Eric in tow. He had toyed with my fingers as we sat waiting outside the gate, reading the advance copy of my book that he had asked for. He had put a different cover on it so as to not draw the attention of any fans, and I had begged him to stop because I'd been so nervous over his reaction.

"You don't care if other people criticize it," he had chuckled when I pouted at him.

"I'm not sleeping with other people!" I'd huffed.

"Oh, so this is about us having sex?" When I had rolled my eyes, he had leaned over to kiss my cheek and murmur, "I think it's fantastic. I can't put it down, or you know I would."

Now, I sigh and try to entertain myself as I sit waiting in the first-class lounge. On the plane, so as to continue this pattern of torturing myself, I recall the way his thumb would brush over the back of my hand soothingly because he knew how I hated flying. I eye the seat next to me that is supposed to be occupied, and then face away from it, closing my eyes so that maybe I will fall asleep. I do, by some miracle, or maybe it's just my pregnancy hormones saving me but I wake up with a jolt as the plane lands at JFK. Pam has already flown out for some meeting or other at the NYC branch of the publishing house, so I send her a quick text to let her know I'm here and take a cab to the expensive suite the publishing house has booked for me. The release party isn't until tomorrow so I have some time to wander around Times Square aimlessly and buy ridiculous touristy things, and make sure I pick up some honest-to-god lox before remembering that I can't have raw fish. Dejected, I walk back to the hotel and order an ungodly amount of food, figuring I might as well use my excuse to get horrendously fat. I told Pam about the pregnancy a couple of days ago, because I figured she needed to know and also because I figured I'd need someone to cover my butt at the party when I avoid alcohol. Revealing my pregnancy isn't really something I want to do yet, caught in the limbo as I am with my relationship with the father.

I stop mid-chew, contemplating that for the first time like I haven't allowed myself to do in the past week. I'm going to be a mother. All those memories I have with my mother and Gran; I get to make those for a whole new tiny person who is growing inside of me right now. Resting my hand on my abdomen, I take a deep breath and immediately burst into tears, for probably the first time since Eric left. I love him, I do, and I miss him every second, but I can do this without him if that is what he wants. Maybe the timing isn't terrible after all; this book is the last in the series, so it'll be at least a couple of years before I have to worry about writing again. And I've always wanted a baby, Tara was right, and this baby was created out of love, with someone who cares for me even though I don't know how present he will be in mine and the baby's lives from now on. Consoled, for the time being at least, I change into comfortable sweats and a ratty t-shirt and crawl into bed. I have a lunch date tomorrow, which I'm genuinely looking forward to since despite living in the same city Pam and I don't actually get to see each other often. I miss her and the odd friendship we've developed in the several years of her being my editor. Setting my Blackberry's alarm, I snuggle deeper under the covers and read until I can fall asleep around midnight. I awaken, not to the sound of my alarm but rather to the sound of someone knocking rather insistently on the door. I groan into the pillow and sigh as I clamber out, pulling on a thick sweater over my tank top.

"Who is it?" I call out, my voice hoarse. I glance in the full-length mirror by the suite door and quickly pull my bedhead into a bun at the top of my head.

"It's me." An unmistakable voice replies and I freeze with my hand on the doorknob. In New York? At – I check the microwave clock – six in the morning? Unlocking it, I pull the door open and peek out, unwilling to believe it is who I think it is. Because standing in the hallway, looking like an absolute mess, is Eric. He smiles shyly and raises a hand in greeting.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, none too kindly because after a whole week of no contact, I figure I'm justified in being less than pleased to see him standing outside my hotel room like he belongs here.

"I took a red-eye. I wanted to see you."

"So you came to New York? You couldn't have seen me before I left? Or waited until I got back?"

"I didn't want to miss the release party," he admits softly. I stare at him for a long moment – glare, rather – before turning on my heel and walking back to the bedroom where I crawl into bed. I hear the door shut and wonder if he's going to come in here or avoid me, because that would be pointless since he came all this way. I feel his weight on the mattress a second later, and his hand on my hip urging me to roll onto my back and regard him.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"Okay." That's great, really. He better be fucking sorry, but he's not forgiven and probably won't be for a while.

"I was an ass."

"You were."

"I love you."

I don't say anything to say to that, because what am I supposed to say, really? "I know"? "You better"? "You've done a terrible job of showing it lately"? He knows all that. "I'm keeping it," I say instead, sitting up against the headboard. "Whether you stay or not, in eight months, I'm having this baby."

"I want to stay."

"I don't want you to unless you're a hundred percent sure. If you freak out and run away again, you won't get to come back. I don't want to be always wondering if you're going to panic when I need your support with our child, because I'm terrified, and I need support and am more than willing to return the favour. If you think you can't do that, if you're unsure, you need to walk away because I can do this if I'm alone from the beginning. But I can't depend on you and have you let me down. Not like you did this week."

His eyes are lowered, his thumb brushing against my thigh. "I was just shocked."

"And I wasn't? I just didn't have the luxury of getting to walk away. We both knew the pill could fail and I was under the impression that we were both willing to accept the consequences of that. I don't get why you weren't, just because it's not your uterus. Especially after two years?"

"I just needed some time to think. I was going to come back."

"I didn't know that. I was preparing myself to be a single parent. You think I wouldn't have understood if you told me you needed some time away?"

"You would have been okay with that?"

"No!" I scoff. "I would have been scared and heartbroken, but I would have respected your wishes."

"I made a mistake."

"Yeah, you did. You hurt me. And it was pretty confident of you to just show up here and assume it would be fine. You can stay here because I'm not a big enough bitch to make you get a different room just to make a point, but I don't know if I want you at the party."

"I understand that." He seems to deflate a little bit. "It's your choice. You can just let me know. I can leave if you want."

"Don't sulk. I get to sulk and make you feel guilty because you spent a week breaking my heart." I'm teasing, a little bit, and he offers me a tiny smile that I reciprocate. I'd missed him so much, and I do think it's sweet that he came to New York, knowing how much I hate going to these publicity events by myself. I check my phone on the bedside table.

"I'm meeting Pam for lunch so I'm going to go back to sleep." I have like, three more hours.

"Okay." He nods, then hesitates. "Can I stay here?"

"I already said you could," I say with a smile.

"I meant-"

"I know what you meant." He means in this bed, with me. Giving me a long look, Eric walks to the other side of the bed and takes off his jeans, crawling under the covers in his boxer-briefs and t-shirt, both of which he keeps on for my sake I'm sure.

"You look beautiful," he whispers. "Exhausted, but beautiful."

"I missed your stupid face," I grumble and he laughs, reaching for my hand with a light in his eyes.

"Can I kiss you, New York Times Best-Selling Author Susannah Stackhouse?" he asks, in a perfect imitation of our first night together.

"Your title isn't nearly as long," I say in what he interprets as his cue to lean forward and press his lips to mine. We both have a bit of morning breath going, but I don't even care as his hand cups my face and his mouth lingers on mine. I pull away before he can deepen it, not interested in having sex with him just now, and he smiles.

"Hold me?"

"Yeah."

I roll over, squirming closer to him when his arm wraps around my waist, his palm settling on my abdomen. A few hours later I slip out from his arms and sneak into the shower so as to not awaken him. I get dressed in a pair of boyfriend-cut jeans rolled up to a couple of inches above my ankles and gladiator sandals with a maroon t-shirt. Judging by the way Eric is fidgeting under the covers, he's about to wake up so I perch on the edge of the mattress and stroke his hair back from his face, smiling at the sleep lines on his cheek. He curls forward, without opening his eyes, to hide his face in my stomach. Laughing, I run my hands through his hair and give him a bit of a scalp massage that earns me a sound of contentment and Eric's strong arms wrapping around my back. I smile at the very content Swede wrapped around me and feel a twinge in my heart over our little break.

"Are you going now?" he mumbles into my stomach.

"Yeah. Do you want me to bring you something back or are you going to get food?" He releases me and rolls onto his back, rubbing his eyes.

"Uhm. I think I'll go out."

I give him a nod. "We should talk. Later."

"Yeah. That would probably be a good idea." He looks apprehensive.

"Hey, I'm glad you didn't wait until I came back to Calgary." It was sweet of him, in hindsight. I'd been unsure when he showed up but I do want him at the release party. Of course I do. "I missed you." His face lights up and he sits up to press his lips to mine. I deepen the kiss this time, letting my hands traverse his chest and his back, moaning into his mouth when he cups my breast.

"They've gotten bigger. I thought it was in my head, but they really are." He's such a breast man. I smile into his mouth. "I can't believe you're pregnant. There's really a person in there, huh?" His hands drop down to my stomach.

"I'm supposed to get morning sickness, but so far, nothing." I grin. I'd panicked a bit but Dr Ludwig had assured me it was normal. Some women just didn't get sick, so I was hoping I'd get away with it.

"Well, that's lucky." Eric smiles, his eyes growing troubled as I watch.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." The look disappears. "You should get going. Don't want to keep Pam waiting."

"Right. We'll talk later?"

"Yeah, when you come back." He flops back onto the bed and I try not to let his evasion bother me. Regardless, I give him a quick peck and head out into the gorgeous spring day. I'm meeting Pam at her favourite restaurant here, in the Upper East Side, where she's already waiting for me at a table on the patio.

"There you are!"

I give her a kiss on cheek. "How's my favourite editor?" Rolling her eyes, she gestures for me to sit.

"You're a terrible suck-up, Stackhouse."

"But I am about to make you a lot of money," I grin. The New York Times called it the most highly-anticipated sequel since the last Harry Potter book.

"That you are."

Pam already has some wine and I order lemonade before perusing the menu. We're both starving so we order right away, making sure to get an appetizer to tide us over until the food comes.

"So what has you so excited? I thought you were going to be a mess."

"You're so kind," I sigh and tell her about the events of earlier.

"Wow." She does not seem at all impressed. "Did you take him back?"

I shrug. We didn't exactly break up, but I figure she knows that. "I didn't make it easy on him, but I'm not interested in holding a grudge." He'd seemed like such a mess, and not just because he'd taken the red-eye. The look in his eyes was one I hadn't seen since before we started dating. The food comes then and we busy ourselves by stuffing our faces and discussing some last-minute details for the party later tonight. The limo is picking me up at eight and driving me to the "hip" and "happening" event room in the Upper West Side where I will walk the red carpet, take some photos and meet some fans before heading inside for the festivities. The fans on the red carpet get to enter their names for the chance to meet me personally and get a personalized signed copy of the book that will be hand-delivered to them on the day of the release. The gift bags have bound copies of the first three chapters of the book and coupons for free copies from Barnes & Noble on 5th Avenue once the book has been released, plus a bunch of other goodies that usually end up on eBay two days after the party. I ask Pam to make sure the open bar can serve me some ginger ale and she assures me she'll tell the bartender to do so on the down-low.

"So when do you wanna break the news that you're going to be a baby mama?" She asks, sipping at her wine. I eye the drink enviously but shrug.

"I don't see why we have to make such a big deal about it. People are going to figure it out by themselves. I figure if they ask, we can just confirm it."

"You are so boring."

"Yeah, I'm no fun at all. Sorry to let you down."

She insists on paying when the bill comes, reminding me that I'm about to make her quite a bit of money, and we part ways with the promise of seeing each other later. I cab it back to the hotel and let myself in, hoping that Eric is back already, assuming he even went anywhere. My grin widens when I realize he's in the shower and I contemplate joining him since the pregnancy hormones and the perpetual horniness that came with them had been the cherry on top of the angsty sundae of the past week. I kind of just want to spend the next six hours on top of him so the shower is looking pretty tempting right now. I will have to shower later though and I don't want to join him now if we're going to get dirty afterwards. And we definitely will, if I have any say in it. I quickly undress and grab my book off the bedside table to lie on my stomach, ankles crossed in the air. I'm still reading when Eric emerges dripping, a towel wrapped around his waist, and out of the corner of my eye I catch him gaping. He hesitates for only a second before drying off and tossing the towel in the corner to slide in next to me with his own book. I pout, and let my nostrils flare before tossing the hardcover aside.

"You win." I take his book and drop it on the floor, grinning as I straddle his thighs.

"Don't pout. I'll make sure you feel like a winner by the time I'm done with you," he winks.

"You're so cheesy," I laugh and kiss him, my chest pressed against his. His hands quickly find their place on me, lingering on his favourite parts of my torso and moving around my back to bring me even closer.

"You feel great," he whispers when my mouth moves to his neck.

"Oh, is this doing it for you?" I tease. "I admit, I'm a little disappointed." At the same time, I let my hand travel down to touch him, my fingertips brushing along his length.

"Shut up." He quickly maneuvers himself on top of me and pushes in, matching my sounds with his. I finish quite a while later with a cry and fall back onto the mattress, moaning again when Eric relocates between my thighs. He goes slow and I close my eyes, arching my body into the sensation until I decide I've had enough.

"Wait, stop." I whisper and he looks up, a little concerned. I tell him to get on his back and straddle his face, leaning forward to return the favour. We have some sex rules, Eric and I, that we established quite early on in our relationship. Other than the total reciprocity rule we have, we also never do 69 with me on the bottom. He's just too tall, and far bigger than me. Besides, it's hard to blow someone of his size when my head is resting on the mattress. Or when we're on our sides. Regardless, this position does it for both of us, and I come about a minute before he does, groaning and thrusting up into my mouth. Afterwards I curl up at his side and kiss his cheek, letting my hands traverse his torso absently.

"Still?" He laughs. "_Still?"_

I pout. "I'm horny. It's the pregnancy, it's not my fault."

"I'm not complaining." Pushing me onto my back, he leans over me and directs his attention to my breasts.

"Don't use your teeth." I usually want him to, but they're too tender right now. It still feels amazing though, when he sucks on my nipples and cups them gently. We fall asleep at one point, but I wake him up with my hand on his cock and my mouth on the sensitive skin of his v-cut. It's almost five by the time we wake up from our second power nap, and I wrap my arms around his chest to nuzzle his neck. I feel thoroughly fucked, and oh so sated. And starving.

"No," says Eric, without opening his eyes.

"What?" I pull back.

"The answer is no. I'm drawing the line." He opens one eye and shoots me a smile.

"I was just snuggling," I smile back and bring my body closer to his.

"Well, in that case, carry on."

"Let's order some food. And shower. In that order so it'll be here by the time we're clean." He pulls me up and we pad to the bathroom.

"Hands above the waist," he tells me rather sternly. I shoot him a coy look, once we're under the warm spray of the waterfall shower and let my hands drift over my own body. Soaping up, I ask him to get my back but pull away before his hand can drift too low. It's a gorgeous shower and it would be fantastic on my own, but as it is I can think of half a dozen ways we can put the honest-to-god seat to good use. In the end, I do convince him to get dirty before getting clean again, and we step out just in time for the arrival of room service. Eric throws on a robe and gets the door while I dry off and moisturize, pulling on comfortable clothes that I can do my hair and makeup in later. We catch _Ocean's Eleven _playing on TV and curl up on the couch where I dig into my steak salad and the side of fries I made Eric order for me to steal.

"Can I have some of _my _fries?" Eric asks rather diplomatically, and I quirk a brow.

"I'm eating for two."

He pouts but surrenders without another word, and of course that makes me feel like a jerk so I hand over the fries and kiss his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too," he murmurs and pushes his pasta away.

"What's wrong?" That look, from this morning, is back and I put my own food away as well. I take his hand but give him his space so he can work through whatever it is he needs to work through.

"I don't think I'll be a good dad, Sook," he tells me at last, his eyes warily meeting mine.

"Where is this coming from?" I already have an argument, but first I need to know why he thinks that. He rubs at his eyes and pushes his damp hair out of his face.

"I wanted to have kids. With Natasha." He sort of mumbles the last part and I tense, not pleased that he never told me this.

"And what happened?" I'm almost afraid to know. I'm doing my best to be supportive here.

"We put it off, because we were getting our lives together. And then, when we were getting the divorce and things got ugly…" He drifts off and shakes his head dismissively.

"Tell me," I coax.

"Well, she was the one to tell me I wouldn't be a good dad, said I was too cold to raise a kid." I frown when he shrugs, and he continues. "You can't refute that. I can't even tell you I love you, how many daddy issues do you think that'll inflict on our kid? And you, I don't even get why you would want to have a child with me. You're the warmest person I know."

My heart literally aches at his words, at the vulnerability he's masking with his nonchalance. "You're not cold."

"Sookie," he sighs and I interrupt him.

"You think I would love you if you were cold? You think I'd stay with you for two years if you were cold?" He's totally not convinced, so I move to sit in his lap and take his face in my hands. His arms wrap themselves around my hips. "The night I came to your house, at the end of the De Castro case?" He nods, so I continue. "Do you remember what you did the morning after?" This time, he shakes his head. "I was the biggest vulnerable mess. I mean, we fucked and I told you I loved you, which was probably insane, and then you didn't panic. The next morning I was totally ready to bolt out and instead you made me kiss you. And then you asked me to dinner." I'd thought about it for ages afterwards, the kindness he had shown me, how careful he had been to not make me feel pathetic, when I'd been so vulnerable. I'd almost fallen even more in love with him then. "I don't know why you'd even think that. I'm over the 'I love you' thing. As long as you say it every now and then, I don't care if you're not one to shout it from the rooftops. As long as you act like you love me, which you do. I'll admit I'm hurt by you walking out but after what you've just told me, it makes total sense. I'm sorry you're scared; I'm scared too. I don't think any parent would tell you anything different, but we can support each other because I want you here. I can't imagine doing this with anybody else; I want this to be with _you_." My eyes fill with tears as I tell him this and his face softens.

"Jesus, Sook." He clasps my hands, bringing them one by one to his lips, and leans his forehead against mine.

"I've seen you with Paige and Riley. It's going to take a lot to convince me that you're not going to be a good father to our baby, Eric." I hesitate, then sigh. "I want you to want this. I want you to be excited, because I am." Really, the more I think about it, the more excited I become.

"I am!" Suddenly, he scoops me off of his lap and walks into the bedroom to appear with a small plastic bag.

"What is that?" I ask, a little disoriented at the way he switched gears.

"I bought something," he admits, re-taking his seat to pull the contents out of the bag. He holds it up, and I see that he has bought two onesies.

"Is that...?" The one he is holding up has 'My Daddy Can Arrest Your Daddy' on it and the tears come back.

"And this one says 'Resisting A Rest'." Eric smiles, a tad adorably. This is the cheesiest, most amazing thing he has ever done for me, and I throw my arms around his shoulders.

"I love you so much," I sniffle, moving back into his lap.

"I hoped you'd like them. I bought them at the mall before I came here."

"They're cute. We'll definitely use them." I fold them back up and tuck them back into the bag, setting them aside. Eric's palm moves to my abdomen and he leans back to get a good look.

"How far along are you?"

"About six weeks." I'm due at the end of November. "Do you want a girl or a boy?"

Eric shrugs, with a little smile. "Either will be good."

"No preference at all?"

"Nope," he grins. "You?"

"I do have a certain fondness for tiny Northman baby boys." Riley had told me that he would want to be my boyfriend if his Uncle Eric didn't want me, which had been a bit embarrassing but mostly really cute. Eric had told him to go find his own pretty girl, and he had adorably complained that there were none at his preschool.

"And big Northman boys?" Eric quirks a brow at me.

"Just one in particular," I grin, giving him a light kiss. "Or a baby girl with your eyes who'd have you wrapped around her tiny fingers? You know, I would be happy with either one too."

We quickly finish up our now-cold meals, and I laugh at Eric when he quietly asks me if I have a date to the party.

"Get your ass in that suit, Eric Northman!" I smack his butt and do my hair and makeup, pulling my hair up into a high ponytail and curling the ends so that it just reaches my shoulders. I have to wear a strapless bra and the tiniest, laciest excuse for a thong so that it doesn't show under my dress, and Eric gives me a look as I traipse around to get the garment bag. He's wearing a dark grey suit and white shirt, looking oh so handsome despite foregoing a tie.

"Can you zip me up?"

He does, rather obediently, pressing a kiss on my shoulder and wrapping his arms around my waist.

"What is it, Baby?"

He presses his cheek to mine. "I really love you."

I almost want to cry at how sweet he's being. Not that he isn't sweet often, but right now he's feeling vulnerable and needing to emphasize that point, which breaks my heart. I don't want him to question us; what it comes down to, after two years of being together, is that we get each other. We always have, ever since the mornings we'd wordlessly have coffee together at the police station. Ever since our first fight, which came before our first night together. He gets me, when I would rather have ice cream for dinner, or when I spend all night in my office to pump out three hundred pages, and then spend all day under the covers in the worst mood because half of what I wrote was shit. And I get him; all the little things he doesn't say, the way he actually likes being cuddled but would never admit it, that sometimes he has to cancel dinner and not get home until the next evening.

He would have to fuck up so much more colossally, in order to have any reason to feel vulnerable about us.

"I know you do." I twist my neck for a kiss. "You know I do too."

"Yeah." He kisses my cheek and we break apart. "You look beautiful." I brush my hands over the soft material of the coral Grecian-style dress. It's cinched in at the waist by a plain gold strip of fabric, and the light material flows down to the floor.

"Thank you. I really love this dress." I usually tend to go for classic cocktail dresses for release parties and whatnot, but I figured I should wear something fancier for the series' finale.

"I wasn't talking about the dress." He raises his brow at me and I bite my lip.

"Lover?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't tease if you're not up for more tonight, okay?" I move to toss my phone, a Sharpie, and a few other essentials into my clutch before I put on my black velvet platform stilettos that I figure I can only take advantage of for a couple more months.

"Lover?" He calls after me and I look over because the way he says it is just so much more sexy than I can manage. "Who said I was teasing?"

"Oh, you ass!" I glare. It's ten to eight; we don't have time to do anything, and I'm going to have to spend all night turned on. He just smirks and takes my hand as we leave the suite, finding the limo waiting for us when we get outside.

"Miss Stackhouse, Mr Northman," the driver nods, smiling politely as he holds the door open. We thank him and get in, confirming the destination for him before he pulls away from the curb. I used to be rather vocal about being sent a whole stretch limo to arrive in, but Pam always dismissed me because apparently people expect a certain level of indulgence from celebrities, which I apparently am. It still blows my mind though, especially since I don't exactly get a lot of recognition in Calgary despite the worldwide popularity of my book. It just somehow doesn't happen. Regardless, I've given up on complaining about the limo thing, and as it turns out, it comes in quite handy when Eric raises the tinted barrier between Frank the driver and us.

"What was that for?" I ask, quirking a brow, and he quirks one right back.

"We're going to need privacy."

My heart jumps up to my throat when he moves off the seat and pushes my dress up to around my hips. My tan looks great against the colour, I observe distantly as he begins kissing up the inside of my legs, starting from the knee.

"I like these heels," he purrs. "I think I want to fuck you in them later." I have a vision of my feet up in the air, crossed over his back as he drives himself into me, and I have to stifle a moan. His hands move up the back of my thighs and I lift my hips so he'll pull off my underwear, but he gives my ass a firm squeeze first. Eric spends the next twenty minutes with his face buried between my legs, one finger inside me and the other hand squeezing my thigh as he slowly toys with me until I make a choked sound, slap my hand over my mouth, and come with a jolt. He licks me clean with his tongue, and I remember for the thousandth time why he's the best sex I have ever had. I'm too blissed out to notice that I'm no longer in possession of my thong until he has smoothed my skirt down and reclaimed his seat beside me.

"Find me my underwear?" I ask him, not realizing that he already has. He holds up the scrap of lace and folds it, tucking it into his jacket pocket

While he busies himself by placing kisses on my neck, I take a deep shuddering breath and let him direct my hand to the bulge in his pants. It's more of a 'see what you do to me' than a 'your turn' thing which I would find douchey, but as it is, I'm just turned on.

"I want you in my mouth," I whisper into his ear, licking the shell, and then order him to undo his pants. Instead of doing as I've promised him I first unbutton his shirt and run my hands over his torso before enthusiastically returning the favour. He's better at being quiet than I am, which sucks because I like hearing him make some noise but it's good enough to watch the way he wrinkles his nose and how his mouth falls open as he comes with a low grunt. He makes a show of being lifeless and I laugh as I tuck him back into his pants and fix up his clothes to curl up next to him, with my head on his shoulder. I cross a leg over his when he holds me tighter, and we whisper to each other like we do after sex sometimes.

"I have a ring in my pocket," he tells me at a red light.

"You have my thong in your pocket," I giggle into his neck and inhale the scent of his soap and cologne.

"Different pocket." He pulls back a little bit to give me a look. "You didn't answer me the first time."

"I wasn't sure the first time. You kind of sprung a lot on me." I hesitate for a second and frown, matching up a couple of timelines in my head. "And then I'm pretty sure you knocked me up. So that was a productive weekend for you." We did have a lot of sex that night. We'd really tested the limits of the pill's effectiveness.

"So help me be more productive."

"Making me your wife will count as productivity?" I can't help but smile. The hand I had been resting on his thigh moves to clasp his hand. He just gives me a look that says I won't be distracting him with technicalities. "Give me a bit of time, okay?" When disappointment floods his eyes, I continue, "Eric, twenty-four hours ago I wasn't even sure if I still had a boyfriend. I was thinking that I was going to be a single parent. Two hours ago, you told me you didn't know if you would be a good dad. And now you want to be my husband?"

"You don't think I'm serious. That I mean it," he says flatly.

"Don't be like that," I sigh. "Don't act like this isn't sudden. Not once did you tell me you wanted to get married, not once did you even discuss it with me. You know how I feel about you, you know I want you. I just want to make sure this isn't you popping the question because you're getting excited about the baby and you think you need to do this."

Instead of responding, he looks out the window. "We're here."

"Eric, don't sulk." I really don't think I can handle him sulking here.

"I'm not sulking. I'm giving you time." The door opens, Frank leaning in to confirm that we are indeed here as the sound of hundreds of fans rushes in, screaming and vying for attention. Eric presses a kiss into my lips and gets out, offering me his hand and I sigh to scoot to the edge of the seat and accept the hand, straightening my dress before looking up.

"There you are!" Pam strides over, looking like a million bucks in a skintight red cocktail dress.

"Pam, you look amazing!"

"Thanks. You too." She eyes the swell of my breasts before giving Eric the once over; Pam doesn't care what parts someone has, as long as they use them well. And she always makes sure to express how much she appreciates my breasts. And Eric's ass. "Alright, the bartenders know to give you ginger ale. I'm giving you half an hour here before we have to head inside. You're meeting the winner of the draw at 10, and they get 20 minutes, max. Got it?"

"Yup. Do you want to walk with me or go inside?" I ask Eric.

"I'll walk with you. Unless you'd rather I wait inside."

"I won't really get to be very attentive," I smile apologetically, not wanting him to think I don't want him with me, because I do.

"He can hang out with me," Pam purrs and we both ignore the tone of her voice. She reverts back to business mode in the blink of an eye. "Now let's get going. I want you to make it inside before midnight." She rolls her eyes, no doubt referring to my tendency to make conversation with the fans that come here for me. I figure it's the least I can do for them, if they're not allowed inside and yet they come here, hoping for the chance to meet me. For the next half hour I proceed to take dozens of photos, sign my name so many times that it becomes instinctive, and make casual conversation with so many people that their faces blur. On top of that, I have to do a couple of pre-planned interviews with Entertainment Tonight and the like, and answer pretty much the same questions over and over again. It's just past nine by the time we make it inside and I'm almost ready to turn right around and go home. I meet with the draw winner, a sweet little teenage girl named Crystal who blushes and offers me her hand, and do my best to make her comfortable and sign the books she's brought before asking her how she wants the finale signed. She wants it signed for her mom, she tells me, who is in the hospital with breast cancer, and it's so touching that I decide the least I can do is send her another copy signed to her. I even end up talking to her mom on the phone, feeling myself tear up when Crystal does. Pam bursts in eventually because I've spent far more than the allotted time with her and insists on dragging me away, so I thank Crystal for coming and get Pam to take my photo with her before wishing Crystal a goodnight. I'm still a little teary-eyed when I emerge from the private room and I beg Pam to let me have five minutes to pull myself together. In the luxurious bathroom, I dab at my eyes and fix up my makeup before bracing myself on the counter to take some deep breaths.

"What happened, Lover?" Eric asks, having followed me despite the prominent Ladies' sign on the door. I let him envelope me in his arms, careful not to ruin his shirt, and tell him everything while he soothingly strokes my back until I'm calmed down.

"How sure are we that this Fetal Alcohol Syndrome business isn't just a conspiracy?" I whisper to him afterwards, as I sip at my drink. "Our baby would understand that mommy needs a drink, right?"

"Whose conspiracy would it be?" Eric snickers. "And I don't know how understanding he or she will be." I sigh and eye his glass.

"I'm jealous."

"What are you jealous of, I'm drinking the same thing." He chuckles at me.

"What?"

"I asked for what you're having."

"Why?" I ask, mystified, and he shrugs dismissively. It's so sweet of him to not drink when I can't, though. I reach up and wrap my arms around his shoulders to kiss his cheek. "You didn't have to. But thank you anyways."

He shrugs again. "It's no big deal."

I take his hand and we continue to mingle until I'm dead on my feet, at which point Pam releases us and we head out the back door because I don't trust myself to be polite and sweet to anybody at this point. In the limo despite my protests that he doesn't have to, Eric takes my feet into his lap and takes off my stilettos to give me a foot rub.

"I thought you liked those," I smile, half-asleep as I lean into the seat.

"I do. But they can't be comfortable."

"I'll wear them again later," I promise with a wink.

"Not too tired for that? There's no hurry." He moves to the other foot.

"I'm good. Are you too tired?" Eric shakes his head with a smile and hits a spot that has me moaning. He gives me a look that makes me crave his attentions somewhere much higher, so, moving my feet off his lap, I slink closer to mouth at his neck and slip a hand under his jacket. We keep it pretty PG until we get to the hotel because we'd much rather have a couple of hours in a bed than have something get cut short in the limo, but hurry up to the suite as fast as we can without sprinting. I giggle as Eric plants a trail of kisses over my shoulder and up to my ear as he unzips the dress and reverently lays it across the couch, earning himself a smile of approval. I undress him quickly, needing his warm skin pressed against mine, and we fuck just the way he wanted with my stilettos up in the air as he slams into me over and over again until I'm screaming. Afterwards, I toss the shoes and curl into his body before stretching up to kiss his ear.

"Can I see the ring?"

Eric gives me a drowsy look and then crawls off to retrieve it from the inner pocket of his jacket, hesitating a second before handing the antique over. There's a large sapphire in the center, trimmed by a ring of small blue topaz jewels and flanked with even smaller diamonds. It's absolutely gorgeous and I gasp, glancing up at Eric before looking back at the ring.

"Dammit," I whisper.

"What?"

I meet his gaze with a smile. "Now when I say 'yes', it'll look like I said it to get the ring."

Cocking an eyebrow, Eric murmurs, "Does that mean that you're…"

"I want you to be my husband. If the offer is still on the table, that is."

"It is." He grins and reaches for the ring to slide it slowly onto my finger, looking up more than once to make sure it's still okay.

"Wait, on one condition." I yank my hand back and Eric gives me this look of mild terror. "No Married Sex."

"I'd rather die." I let him slide the ring the rest of the way on and squeal and tackle him back onto the mattress, peppering kisses onto his face and laughing when he rolls on top of me to kiss every bit of my skin.

"No!" I shriek when he starts tickling my sides, making an attempt at an escape and failing colossally when he straddles my thighs to keep me from moving. "Think of the baby! Think of the children!" I'm grasping at straws, here. "I'm going to pee all over you!" That gets him off of me and I move as far away on the bed as I can manage, breathing heavily even as I continue to giggle. He's giving me a lusty look now, and I can feel the blush rising on my cheeks. I'm tired. Or rather, I really should be tired. But I have it in me for us to fuck once more before he crawls half on top of me and we fall asleep like that.

I wake up, in a pool of blood.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Holy hell you guys! As always, thank you so much for your wonderful reviews and loads of feedback; this is definitely one of my most ~popular~ stories. I try to respond to reviews that have questions in them, though a couple of times I've been unable to due to the review-er's PM settings. So if you asked me something I did not respond to, that is why.

Also, this chapter – in my opinion – discusses some rather touchy subjects; please try to keep an open mind and remember the opinions expressed by the characters are not necessarily mine. People all see things differently from one another, and that's more than fine. Please extend that courtesy to me, and Sookie.

Having said that, let me know what you think about this one. There are only three more chapters left after this!

* * *

><p>But I will hold on hope<p>

And I won't let you choke

On the noose around your neck.

And I'll find strength in pain

And I will change my ways.

"The Cave", Mumford & Sons

Chapter Six

I pretend to be asleep the entire flight, unwilling to interact with anybody other than Eric, even if it is the flight attendant asking me if I would like a drink. Eric gets me orange juice and puts it in the cupholder between our first class seats, and holds my hand when I reach for his, which is whenever he's not using it for something else. I feel exhausted, in a way that has nothing to do with resting, and I just want to be home already. In Calgary, I docilely direct Eric to where I parked my car and hand over the keys, thanking him quietly for putting my bags into the back. He kisses my forehead and holds the door open, and I reach for his hand again once he's seated and we're out of the parking spot.

"Honey, you should probably eat something," he says quietly and I lift my head to look at him.

"I'm not hungry," I tell him, because I'm not, but I don't want to be a brat to him. "But I'll eat if you think I should."

"You haven't had anything since breakfast," he justifies kindly. "Does anything sound good to you?"

"I don't know." I can't think of anything appetizing. "Your crepes, maybe?" He is pretty fantastic at making those.

"Okay." He smiles over at me, and I do my best to shape my mouth into a smile. At home, we dump our bags just inside the door since we're both terrible with unpacking after trips. It usually takes us a week to get everything back where it belongs.

"I'm going to go lie down for a bit." I head for the stairs but hesitate, feeling bad about leaving him with the cooking. "Unless; do you need a hand?"

"I'm good," he assures me and gives my back a little rub. I head to our room then, and use the bathroom before changing into a baggy pair of sweatpants and a University of Toronto hoodie Eric has had for ever. Crawling under the covers, I curl up on my side and drift in and out of consciousness. When Eric brings me food – crepes stuffed with fresh fruit and smeared with Nutella – I do my best to eat as much of it as I can, but it's a lot of food anyways and I give up less than halfway through.

"You sure you don't want any more?"

"Yeah. You can have the rest if you want." I hand over the plate and he puts it in his lap, regarding me for a second before patting my hand. He's really been the king of small, meaningful physical contact for the past couple of days. To say I'd panicked when I'd woken up on Sunday morning in pain and drenched in blood would be a bit of an understatement. Eric's face had lost all its colour, though he had managed to keep calm as he helped me clean up a bit and change, holding my hand as we took a cab to the Emergency room. I'd known beyond a shadow of a doubt before the tests results had even come back, but Eric hadn't, perhaps because it wasn't his body that was now expelling the remnants of the baby we never had. There was really very little that could be done other than wait for my body to do what it was already doing, and so we had headed back to the hotel where Eric had arranged for a different room, perhaps while I had been in the bathroom, though I didn't quite care enough to ask. I'd just been grateful that we didn't have to go back to that same room that was now so tainted, in my mind. I hadn't spoken a word nearly all day, dodging Pam's phone call and choosing instead to sleep until the next morning when we were to head back to Calgary. This morning I'd actually made an effort, feeling Eric-related guilt on top of the considerable amount of pregnancy-related guilt I was feeling. Now, I ask him if he can just stay here, with me, for a couple of hours instead of going off to do whatever he needs to do. We end up on our sides, silently facing each other with about a foot between us because I don't really want him to touch me right now. I just want to know he's there for me without being in my face, and I'm so very thankful that he's here right now.

"I love you," I tell him without even meeting his eyes, just so he knows I'm grateful and he tentatively reaches for my hand, brushing a thumb over his ring.

"I love you too, Darling." When he smiles, I can suddenly see the depth of his concern for me.

"I'm going to be okay, you know."

"I know. You're the strongest person I know," he gives my hand a little squeeze and my eyes fill with tears. "You know I'm here if you need me."

"I need you." I try to chuckle but it ends up sounding pathetic so I just tuck my face against his neck, allowing this bit of contact and finding that it does bring me a bit of comfort.

I let myself stay in bed, and neglect my fiancé for four whole days before I drag my ass under the healing spray of the shower. There, I look down and rest both hands on my stomach, letting myself truly accept my loss for the first time. Selfish as it may be to think this, I think of it as my loss far more than it is Eric's; Eric was around for a grand total of two days while I'd been pregnant, and he was definitely not the one whose body had turned against him. Under the warm spray, I consider all the things I haven't yet considered, like the possibility of me losing the baby because I'd been so tired and stressed out all week. I know better though; up to a quarter of women miscarry, some before they even know they're pregnant, but almost all within the first 13 weeks of pregnancy. And I'm healthy; I eat well, I exercise, I don't smoke. I certainly didn't drink after I found out. Chances are, it was because of some genetic abnormality in the baby; something that I have absolutely no control over, but that could happen again. Or it could not. And yet, despite all this rationale, I can't help feeling betrayed by my own body.

I use up all the hot water before climbing out and getting dressed in a clean version of my earlier outfit, and proceed to cry my eyes out for the first time since Sunday; heaving, sobbing, hyper-ventilating on the bed like I haven't done since I was six and rode my bike into a concrete wall, effectively destroying the paint job on my bike and giving myself a huge gash on the knee. I figure I'm breaking my promise to Eric when I said I'd be fine if he went in to work today for the first time since we got back from New York, which may be a good thing because he would probably panic if he were here to witness this. It's almost nice, letting go like that, and I do feel better afterwards, if a little cried out. Heading downstairs, I decide to make chili for dinner and even go so far as to vacuum and fully unpack our things from the trip. Eric gets home at five, obviously having cut his work day short, and stops when he sees me unloading the dishwasher.

"Hey you," he calls out with a bit of a smile on his face.

"Hi." When he kisses my cheek, I grab a hold of his ears and gently direct his lips to mine for a brief peck. He doesn't say anything about my slump, only comments that I look better, and helps me get dinner ready. We opt for curling in front of the TV with our bowls, and afterwards he shoots me a bit of a careful look and mutes the TV.

"What's up?"

"I think there's some things I'd like to say."

I take a deep breath to steady myself and turn to face him before gesturing for him to go on.

"I don't want you to think I'm not upset. I did some reading, about this situation, and that's apparently something a lot of women feel. I'm not saying you should take care of me; I just don't want you to feel that you're alone in grieving. I know I was hesitant at first, and I know it was your body and not mine, but still." He's right; I had been feeling that way, even though I'd tried to convince myself that I wasn't. He's always so stoic that I had wondered, at my lowest, if he even cared. But of course he does. I reach for his hand and he gives mine a squeeze.

"I think I want to try again," I say quietly. "Not for a while, probably, but I want it to become more of a short-term thing for us. I hope that's something you want as well."

"Not immediately, but yeah, it is." He nods, and I relax ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry I pushed you away." I'd really been terribly unresponsive. It was a wonder he made it three days alone with me when I barely paid any attention to him. Not that Eric is normally high-maintenance; I just maintain.

He shakes his head. "I got it. I get it. I want you to be okay. I'll give you as much time as you need as long as there's progress. If you need my help, all you have to do is ask."

"I'm working on it," I whisper, dropping my gaze.

"I know you are." Smiling, he moves a bit closer to pat my thigh, careful not to make it even remotely sexual. "I love you. You can tell me anything."

"I know." I scoot over to lean into his body, making contact with him for the first time in days. His arm wraps around my shoulders when I tuck my head against his neck, and I proceed to spill my deepest, darkest fears to him. That it somehow actually was my fault, that I'm too old now, that it'll happen again. There's a 25% chance that it will and right now, that feels like a whole hell of a lot. I start crying at some point, soaking his t-shirt as I continue with my list of totally irrational fears. Like that he'll change his mind, that he'll decide it's not worth it. I don't need him to tell me I'm being silly, or that I'm worrying for no reason, and he doesn't. He just holds me, stroking my back and kissing my hair, and murmuring soothing words until I've calmed down. Later, he lets me snuggle into his side as he reads my book, asking me questions about specific things that make him think. I ask him what he thinks about the new character I've introduced this book and he rambles on a bit about it until he catches the look on my face.

"What?"

"You didn't notice?" I can't help the little smile I give him, and he gives me one back, perhaps because it's the first one since the miscarriage.

Pressing a kiss into my forehead, he gives me a little squeeze and puts the book down. "Notice what?"

"Elias is you," I tell him. "Not completely, but I gave him a lot of your mannerisms and characteristics. I started writing him before we got together so the angst was kind of inspired when I realized I was in love with you."

"Even though he's the bad guy?" He laughs. That's the downside to brainstorming things with Eric; he ends up knowing plot twists. What he doesn't know is that Elias isn't _actually_ the bad guy.

"There's more to him than that."

"Cassie loves him," he states, a grin slowly spreading across his features. He knows that all of my main female characters are based, roughly, on me. A bit narcissistic, sure, but it's fun to write someone who is me, but also fundamentally different.

"She does," I say.

Eric rolls onto his side so we're face to face. "Does he love her?"

"He does."

"But neither one of them realizes it." I shake my head. "Do you love me?" He's just teasing me now, but I feel lighter than I've felt in days so I play along.

"I do."

"I love you too."

I take a deep breath, filling my lung with the smell of his soap. How did I think pushing him away was going to help me? I've never felt as content as I do when I'm in his arms and now I squirm a bit closer to drape a leg across both of his. "I need some time before we…" I gesture vaguely between us.

"I know. May I kiss you anyways?" His eyes twinkle. I answer that by instigating it, and it feels like we kiss for hours, alternating between deep, soul-shaking kisses and light, playful ones while our hands chastely roam. I don't know when I fall asleep, but I awaken at seven to Eric kissing my face.

"No, don't go," I whine a little bit when I see he's all dressed and ready to go.

"I have to. Tomorrow we'll sleep in, and I was thinking we could go to the Zoo. What do you think?"

I smile. "I haven't been in forever. That could be fun."

"Yeah. Okay. I made breakfast for you. It's warming in the oven."

"Crepes?" I ask hopefully.

"Waffles. There's strawberries and whipped cream in the fridge for you too, and I made coffee. Wouldn't want to wear off the novelty of my crepes." He winks. He's pretty amazing at all kinds of breakfast foods anyways, so I'm really not too disappointed.

"Thank you. I'll try to eat all of it."

"Good girl. I'll see you later."

I stay in bed for a bit longer before padding downstairs to eat the food Eric has made me. I feel better today, if possible, despite the sadness that is still there. I suspect it will be there for quite a while, but that's somehow comforting, in its own way. I've never committed to the school of thought that people are made from conception. I figure it's a grey area, where exactly the line is crossed, but for me it means that the grief I feel is for the loss of a _potential_ child and nothing else. A few more weeks and I might have been playing a whole different tune, but it helped that we didn't spend months trying to get pregnant. I hadn't really been given time to get used to it.

After breakfast I consider working for a bit, but there's really nothing for me to do. Pam had let me skip out on the book tour this time, instead choosing to send the actress set to play Cassie in the movies. So really, depending on how fast I can pound out the next book, I have about a year or so to do nothing.

However, lack of something for me to write means keeping myself busy through domestic means, so I spend hours reorganizing our whole walk-in closet. We each have our own half but I meticulously categorize everything by occasion, and by colour within each occasion. I hang up my vast collection of scarves and fold up my various hoodies, placing them on the shelves. Even my shoes get organized, which takes quite a bit of time in itself. Having done that, I move on to Eric's half. I'll admit I'm taking advantage because he won't be annoyed now that he considers me so fragile, whereas any other time he would probably complain and get rather pissed. I smirk to myself a little bit as I reach new heights of anal-retentiveness by folding all his socks and underwear. Having done that, I do laundry and some small repairs on a couple of shirts that have lost their buttons, plus retiring several items to the Goodwill pile. I'll let Eric go through them so he has an illusion of being in control but really, they'll all be gotten rid of regardless of his sentimental attachment to them.

The next morning Eric hauls me out of bed and literally carries me to the shower, giving me a sweet kiss before leaving me to do my thing. I'm no longer sure if I want to leave the house, but one look at Eric's hopeful face and I decide I at least owe him a few hours outdoors. It's a gorgeous day outside so I dig out a little sundress I bought a few weeks ago and tuck an umbrella into my purse just in case; in Calgary, you never quite know when it's going to start pouring. Downstairs, Eric is already showered and ready, and is busy making a whole lot of French toast for two people. I watch from the top of the stairs for a few seconds and feel a surge of affection for him, for everything he's done and everything he continues to do. When we'd talked the other night, it had become quite clear that truly, I wasn't the only one hurting. I could see it, his guilt over his reaction and helplessness over not knowing how to make things better or how to help me get better. He's a bit of a type A personality in that he has trouble sometimes accepting that there's nothing for him to do, but he's been quite amazing, taking care of me without being overwhelming.

"Stop creeping," Eric calls without looking up and I smile, checking to make sure my engagement ring is on before heading down the stairs. We have a pretty great date at the Calgary Zoo, which is somehow relatively free of shrieking toddlers, and don't manage to get home until late in the afternoon at which point we just crash on the couch for a couple of hours.

Eric goes back to work after our low-key weekend, and after almost a complete week of scrubbing the house down until it resembles an Ikea catalogue, I decide I'm done. Eric's been great, so supportive, and I've been doing my best to support him as well, but we have yet to have sex. He's waiting for me, I know, and today I've decided I'm ready. I take a hot shower and shave all the essential bits for the first time in what feels like ages, exfoliating and putting in that deep conditioner that Tara always bugs me about. I emerge, feeling like a whole new person, and give myself a manicure with a turquoise shade of nail polish I'd been meaning to try. It takes me a while to make a decision but I end up putting on some dark wash skinny jeans and a red deep v-neck t-shirt that Eric loves on me, and throw together some chicken alfredo and garlic bread. Eric has been making an effort to get home for dinner lately, not wanting me to eat alone even though I'm pretty sure it's killing him to leave so early when they have a case, which they do. I imagine Charlie, Clancy and Thalia all hate me a bit at this point, since I'm sure Eric has not told them why he's skipping out on work. I think I'll invite them all over, have a barbecue, maybe invite Adrian and Katie as well. Clancy has kids too, from a previous marriage as well as his current one to the girlfriend he had when we first met, so Paige and Riley won't be too bored. Maybe even Niall could come and we could catch up since I haven't really talked to him in a while. I feel myself getting excited at the prospect of having a party and start brainstorming some more ideas, looking at a calendar to see what day would work best. By this point it's almost six and I begin setting the table, pulling out some of our higher-end wine that we reserve for company but not for extra special occasions and going so far as to light some candles. He actually ends up being a bit late, but when he bursts in apologizing and saying something about construction and a traffic jam, I forgive him instantly.

"Oh wow, what's going on?" He smiles and takes a deep breath. "It smells amazing in here."

"It's just pasta." I smile back and accept the kiss he offers, deepening it a bit.

"You smell amazing too," he chuckles.

"I'm trying to get back to that showering regularly thing. It's been working pretty well, I think. Come on, I'm starving." I pull him towards the table.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologizes again.

"It happens." I shrug and we sit down. Even I have to admit I've done pretty good, though by Eric's raving you would think I'm a gourmet chef. We wash the dishes together and take our wine to the couch, where I ignore all the room there is in favour of sitting in Eric's lap.

"Hey you," I greet, setting my wine aside to join his.

"Hi." He nuzzles my cheek softly and moves my hair back to kiss my tattoo.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

"It's no prob-"

"No, I know how much trouble I've been," I interrupt. "I can tell how tense you've been, and I'm sorry about that. I don't think I'll ever get a hundred percent over it, but I'm done letting it consume me. I'm good, and I really hope we are as well."

"We are," he assures me quickly.

"You can stop running home at five every day. I won't break if you pull an all-nighter at work." I smile at him. "I love you for doing it all week."

"Is that the only reason why you love me?" He flirts.

"No, I love you for waiting until I'm ready to have sex again, too," I flirt back. "And I am."

"Really? There's really no pressure."

He's adorable. "No?" I press a kiss into Eric's neck and let them trail up to his ear, which I lick and nibble on a bit. My hand, meanwhile, drifts down to sneak under his shirt and tweak his nipple. He groans, and I drop my hand to where he's now half-hard. "Because I sense some pressure that can be relieved right here." Eric pulls back to make sure I mean it, which I do. I really, really do. Standing up, I take his hand and lead him up to our bed where I press my body to his and ask him to make love to me because I've truly missed him, in a way I feel deep in my bones. We're both a little nervous I think, for various reasons, but as it turns out, it's all unnecessary. Our chemistry hasn't gone away, and afterwards he kisses my stomach and tells me that he's glad I'm truly back.  
>I am too.<p>

888

As it turns out, Adrian and Eric are on less-than-amicable terms ever since Eric and I fought, so it takes a fair bit of coaxing before I can have my happy adopted family back together. I let Eric tell them about the miscarriage, a little too raw to speak the words so soon, and then proceed to invite them over for the following Saturday. There's a chance of rain, there's always a chance of rain in Calgary in May, but somehow the gods decide to let us have this and I wake up on Saturday to plus-30 temperatures and not a single cloud in the sky. I shake Eric awake, scaring the ever-loving crap out of him, and proceed to make it better by fucking him senseless before hopping into the shower. Giving Eric his list of chores for today, I do my part by cleaning and preparing steaks and chicken breasts for grilling, plus making a whole bunch of sides. We have beer and pop in a cooler full of ice, and a whole hell of a lot of plastic plates and cups, and I run through a mental list of things that need to be ready by the time everybody shows up. We have a gardener who mows the lawn and whatnot for us, but I make sure Eric has cleaned up the pool and its surrounding area and that he has brought up all the patio chairs we have in the basement. He's tinkering with the grill when I step out onto the deck, his chest bare and in shorts that are slung dangerously low.

"Well that outfit isn't very family-appropriate!"

He turns around. "What's wrong with it?"

"Not the outfit itself," I roll my eyes. "The ideas it's giving me. And what it's instigating in my shorts."

His eyes darken and he steps forward, pressing me into the house.

"We don't really have time for this," I pout.

"You started it! And we have an hour," he checks the outdoor clock, interrupting me before I can form a protest. "Everything is ready. The food is good to go, the backyard is flawless, and we have enough time for me to get you off multiple times."

"How many times?" I want to know.

"Are we going for quality, or quantity?"

I laugh. "If I wanted tiny orgasms, I would have stayed with Bill." Bill, whom I had dated over a year before I met Eric, for almost a year, had not really been what some would call a master in the art of the female orgasm. On a scale of one to ten – one being the sixteen-year-old virgin I had lost my virginity to and ten being Eric – Bill ranked somewhere between three and four. Once, a five, but I had been drunk then which leads me to believe my alcohol-soaked brain had just been more receptive to him. He had been sweet though, polite and educated and handsome in a completely different way from Eric, and I had loved him in my own way, as had he. We broke up because my fame and growing success made him possessive and jealous. When I told Tara without a hint of sadness, she had thrown her arms around me and treated me to a night out at the bar where I had hooked up with a tall, bald man whose eyes I could have sworn were purple. The sex with him, on the first try and with barely any guidance, had sadly been better than it had been with Bill.

Now though, we really, truly don't have time. Eric pouts but follows me upstairs where I change into a red polka dot bikini and a denim skirt that I figure is still okay to wear, since I'm still a bit in denial about my age.

"You look sexy," Eric tells me with a kiss, and pulls on swim trunks and a t-shirt because I insist I can't play hostess when he's walking around like my own personal fantasy. Which he is, but he needs to not be for a few hours. At about four thirty, people start streaming in and not long after, we have a backyard-ful of people. Adrian gives me a big hug when he walks in the door, asking me if I'm okay and telling me that he's here for me. I thank him quite sincerely and giggle when he lifts me up. I greet Katie and the kids, waving them into the backyard, and ask Adrian if he and Eric are fine.

"Because this is just pointless. I don't want you guys to fight."

"We're fine," he assures me. "I told him off for the way he handled things before he went to New York to find you, and he yelled back." I hand him a beer.

"Ace, he did get his head out of his ass. He apologized, and despite everything, we're fine now." What I'm too polite to say is that it's my relationship and if I'm not mad at Eric, he shouldn't be either. Adrian seems to get what I'm saying and promises they'll be fine, and proves it by grabbing a beer and taking it over to Eric where he is standing at the grill, talking to Charles Twining. It had blown my mind to learn that this sort of thing – hanging out outside of work – had not really been Eric's thing until I came along. In the past couple of years, I've made a bit of a point of having those guys over every now and then, partly because I'm a believer in befriending your coworkers but mostly because I'd genuinely considered them my friends after my stint with the police force. Plus, as someone who spends a lot of time working by herself, I'm always a bit in awe of the whole having coworkers thing. I get introduced to Clancy's sons, aged six and one, who are both adorable with their daddy's red hair and green eyes. I then spend quite a bit of time hanging out with Felicia MacKenna, playing with her baby and laughing over her tale of Clancy's fumbling proposal. I have to run inside when the doorbell rings and I open it to find Niall.

"You came!" I half shriek and throw my arms around him.

"Hello, sweetheart." He chuckles and kisses my cheek.

"I'm so happy you're here. Come on in, I'll introduce you to everybody." Of course Tara and Pam have met Niall before, but everybody else seems a little shocked to see the former mayor at my barbecue. Eric is actually on pretty good terms with him, since he technically brought us together, and quickly offers Niall a beer. Seeing that Niall is okay I turn around with the intent to walk away, but catch sight of something that makes my jaw drop; Pam is flirting with Thalia and she is coyly returning the favour. I sidle up to where Charles Twining is watching the scene unfold as well.

"Did you know she was…?"

"Nope. Want to go tell Eric?"

"Do I!" I head back to where Eric, Niall, and Clancy are having a conversation with Charlie in tow. "Honey?" The three men look at me and I smile, maybe a bit diabolically.

"When you and Thalia were sleeping together, were there any uh… weird suggestions?" Charlie asks and Niall raises a brow at me. Eric, who is not at all embarrassed so much as he's confused, asks what the hell Charlie's talking about.

"Check it out," our friend nods his head at the lesbian flirtfest happening by the snack table.

"Holy shit!"

"Daddy, Uncle Eric said a bad word!" Riley yells, running to where Adrian is dunking a shrieking Paige in the pool while Clancy and Charlie laugh and Niall just looks lost.

"Eric and Thalia slept together for a while," I explain, patting Eric's shoulder.

"And I'd like for it to be known that there were no weird requests," my fiancé adds and I smile, kissing his cheek before walking off to get a drink.

"How're you doing?" Tara asks as I sip at the bright green punch I made earlier. I'm getting pretty tired of that question already. I told her about the miscarriage when she called to check in a couple of days after I returned from New York, and she had kindly offered to come over for a bit of a girl time. Eric had hung around, working out in the basement and lingering awkwardly afterwards, caught in the limbo of not wanting to leave me despite not wanting to intrude.

"I'm fine." I smile brightly and offer her some punch, which she accepts. "I've had some pretty fantastically supportive people on my side."

"You don't say," she smiles back.

"Better believe it. So how's JB?" Tara's boyfriend JB and his daughter Jessica are both here today. He's a good guy, not too bright, but good to Tara regardless. Jessica was the result of a short-lived relationship in college, and at the age of ten, is amazing perceptive and fiery. She's only a couple of years older than Paige who is more than thrilled to have a girl she can befriend, stuck as she is in a sea of younger boys. They hit it off famously, and Tara and I watch as they run around, giggling and whispering to each other.

"He's good," she smiles like she always does when talking about JB. It's freaking adorable. I imagine it's the same look I get when I talk about Eric.

"You guys are doing good?"

"We really are. He just makes me happy, you know?"

"I do." I glance at Eric and she catches me doing it. "I'm so happy for you, Tee."

"Thank you. I'm happy for you too, you know. I can tell how happy that guy makes you. I think he's the first guy I could confidently say deserves you." She grins.

"Oh you approve, do ya?"

"I do! You should tell him how great of an honour it is."

"He knows," says Eric as he walks by us to get more burgers from the house.

"See, this is why he gets my approval," Tara laughs.

"Yeah, that's why I keep him around too."

Eventually all the kids run themselves into exhaustion and the non-designated driver adults drink themselves dangerously close to tipsy. Pam and Thalia have already called it a day, I suspect to move on to more adult activities, but most everyone else stays until it starts to get dark. Adrian and Katie hang around a bit longer along with Niall to help us clean up and we protest while being secretly grateful, so while the kids nap on the couch, Katie and I put all the food in containers and the men take out the trash and clean up the backyard. It's almost nine by the time we've said our last goodbyes, and Eric finds me a bit later floating in the pool, the lights illuminating me from below.

"You okay?" he calls out. The way he's backlit makes it hard for me to distinguish his features, but I think he's smiling.

"I'm perfect." He pauses and shucks off his shirt to join me, and we have a bit

of a surreal moment floating, holding hands in silence.

I'm the first one to break the silence. "Are you okay with the Thalia thing?" I imagine it must be a bit disheartening to see someone you have a history with show an interest in their own gender. It would probably make me question some things.

"Yeah." He looks over but I can't really distinguish his expression. "We didn't really have a relationship that went beyond sex, so there's no reason why she would have stuck around if she hadn't been interested." I try to follow him when he stands upright, but I'm too short and end up wrapping my legs around his waist to keep from sinking.

"But it was nice to have her?" I smile a bit so he knows I'm not jealous.

"Sure," he shrugs. "It's always nice to have somebody, even if it's for stress-release."

"Were you good to her?" I find this fascinating; it's interesting to consider Eric having a no-strings-attached relationship, since ours is chock full of strings.

"I got her off, is that what you're asking?" He laughs, quietly.

I wrinkle my nose. "No. I don't need to hear about you getting other women off." He walks us over to the side of the pool to press me into the wall, his body firm and warm against mine.

"Sorry." He sounds pretty sincere. "Did I upset you?"

I shrug. "That just gave me a visual I didn't want."

Leaning forward, Eric nuzzles my nose and gives me a kiss. "You're the best I've ever had."

"Seriously? What about Natasha?"

"She was no you." He shoots me a mischievous grin, and my incredulity quickly melts into a blush.

"You're the best I've ever had too," I say, biting my lip, and he strokes my wet hair.

"Are _you _okay with my ex-whatever and your friend?" Eric asks, pressing a kiss onto my collarbone. I give it some thought as my fingers trace the ever-growing collection of sparrows tattooed on his bicep; I've never been threatened by Thalia thanks to my understanding of the nature of her relationship with Eric, which is a blessing. I genuinely like her as a person, and admire her as a Detective. Around Eric, she never crosses the line, so I have no reason, no prejudice against her that'll make me want her away from Pam.

"I don't care either way. Pam can take care of herself, and so can Thalia." My stomach grumbles at that point, and Eric chuckles lightly.

"Did you get to eat at all?" He knows me well. I shake my head; I was too busy running around, getting more plates or towels and making more punch. A waterfight had broken out at one point and I had kicked some serious ass, piggybacking on Eric until I got metaphorically stabbed in the back by Riley who declared me his personal enemy. I had pouted afterwards, telling him that I had thought we were friends, and he sagely told me all was fair in war. Eric had killed himself laughing.

"It was a fun day."

"It was," Eric agrees. It was nice to let loose and have some fun after the relatively dark couple of weeks we had.

"You looked really great," I tell him with a little kiss. It was a good thing I'd had to keep busy, otherwise I would have spent all my time ogling him and that just would not have been very family-appropriate. It had been pretty hard to not stare, since he took his shirt off after the waterfight and then got a bit sweaty playing Frisbee with Riley and Clancy's boys.

"I looked great? You've been wearing a bikini all day!"

"I was wearing a skirt over it," I protest.

"A tiny denim skirt." His hand comes up to cup one breast and I smile, wrapping my legs more tightly around his waist. There are mornings when I awaken to find his hands possessively on my breasts, or ass. "It's bad form to fuck a girl before feeding her, right?"

"I think so, in most cultures, yes."

He groans and starts up the pool steps, holding me up by the butt once we're out of the water. "Alright, let's feed you, then!"

"Will you grill me something?" I ask through my eyelashes.

"At this hour?" He pouts and sets me down on the deck.

"Pleeease? I've wanted a burger all day and they looked so good when you were making them." I give him puppy dog eyes until he gives in.

"Alright, fine, bring me what you want." I quickly towel dry and do the same to Eric, lingering for maybe too long on certain parts before I bring out a burger and some eggplant, handing him another beer to drink as he works. I wrap a dry towel around myself and make Eric sit with me while I eat, and we take a warm shower together to wash off the smell of smoke before crawling into bed. I feign asleep just to mess with Eric, but then he pulls me into his arms anyways and murmurs that I'm beautiful.

"Awww, I was trying to mess with you, but that was sweet!" I straddle him, rubbing at his chest.

"Well I wasn't about to throw a tantrum just because you're tired." He chuckles and runs his hands up my thighs.

"Good thing too, because you're going to get laid."

I have a couple of really great orgasms, borne of delayed gratification and a partner who knows what he's doing and does it well, and make sure Eric gets his as well. He falls asleep a whole minute later, locking me in his arms, and I smile at how much of a man he is as I drift off as well.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Blah blah you're all amazing blah. The usual =] I am greatly enjoying the number of reviews I'm getting so please do keep that up; I am eternally grateful for your feedback.  
>On a related note, I got a bunch of reviews for chapter five yesterday, which was strange since chapter six is already up. Is anybody NOT seeing chapter six or something? I suppose if you're not seeing updates, you won't see this anyways, but it was worth a try.<p>

This chapter gets pretty detailed with the lemons, but I figured the occasion called for it. I hope you will agree. Having said all that, ENJOY.

* * *

><p>And it came to me then,<p>

That every plan,

Is a tiny prayer to Father Time.

"What Sarah Said", Death Cab for Cutie

Chapter Seven

We get married quietly at City Hall in mid-July, with the Justice's secretary as our witness. We don't need anyone else, or anything else. Afterwards, we have dinner at this amazing little Greek place in Acadia, and I try not to constantly hold my left hand up to make sure everybody sees that I'm married to the gorgeous, amazing man sitting with me.

The decision for the 'wedding' came after Eric mentioned that he and Natasha had had an extravagant affair, completely paid for by her filthy-rich parents. He'd been miserable, he told me. He did it because it made her happy, because he figured she could have the wedding since they were spending the rest of their lives together anyways.

"But that's not fair to you," I'd frowned and let my nails graze his muscled back when he rolled onto his stomach to prop himself up on his elbows. "It was your wedding too." Shrugging, he'd bent down to kiss the wrist of my other hand, the one with the engagement ring on it. He asked me if I was cold and covered my naked body with the sheets. "So how do you want to get married?"

"I don't care."

"Uh-uh," I'd laughed. "You're not getting away with that, not after how your last marriage turned out."

Chuckling, he had asked me if I seriously thought the marriage ended because he didn't enjoy the wedding.

"Maybe. I don't know." I'd giggled, "But I don't want to take any chances. I want you for life."

Naturally, he had asked me what I wanted and, when I'd told him that he was all I wanted, he had suggested City Hall. That sounded good to me. So much of my life is filled with pomp and extravagance that the whole idea of it has lost its appeal to me. I regularly have to dress to the nines for public appearances, and wear uncomfortable heels, and look good, and as grateful as I am for my success, my fans and what it all means for my quality of life, sometimes it all feels like a bit too much. So it sounded great to not make a huge deal about my wedding, because becoming Eric's wife seemed like a huge enough deal on its own.

Now, playing footsie with my husband under the table, I reach for his hand and bask in the way my heart feels like it's about to explode.

"Are you happy, Baby?" I desperately want him to be as happy as I am, because sitting in this small restaurant dressed in shorts and an expensive silk top that I figured was the leaast I could do, I think I'm the happiest I've ever been. He smiles and leaves cash on the table to cover the bill before rising. My hand in his, I follow him outside to the car where, in the shadows of the small lot, I perch on the hood of his 'Vette. There, he kisses both my hands and holds one against his chest, bringing my head to rest against his own with his free hand. It's no verbal response but it's sweet and incredibly loving, and I rest my other hand on his cheek to stand there for several wordless moments, breaking apart only once I've pressed a kiss into his forehead. His large hand covers my thigh the entire drive home where our mood lightens considerably as he sweeps me up into his arms.

"Mrs Northman," he smiles into my kiss once he has covered his body with mine, and I wrap my legs around his waist. I'm changing my name officially, but not professionally since Stackhouse is the name that got me famous. Sookie Northman sounds good though, and I giggle as he pulls my shorts off and throws them over his shoulder. He has to be careful with my top and I make sure he undoes the button in the back before pulling it off, though I don't care enough to stop him from tossing it as well.

"You should get 'Mrs Eric Northman' tattooed on your ass, I think. Just so everyone knows you're mine."

"Who's going to see my ass?" I laugh. "And what about when I get pregnant and my ass balloons? You sure you want your warped name on my butt?" I ease his shirt over his head and mess up his hair before moving on to the button on his jeans, mouthing at his nipple as I do. I tackle him back and kiss his stomach once he's splayed out, laughing as I pull his jeans off. He's half-hard in his boxer-briefs, and I kiss my way up his gorgeous abs all the way to his neck before finally sitting back to undo my lacy bra. I move my nipple to his mouth and watch him latch on, his hands grinding my ass into his erection. Lifting my hips, I help him pull off his underwear and kick it away, stopping him when he moves to roll atop my body.

"I want to be on top."

He eyes me hungrily but nods and lies back down for me to straddle his hips. I gather his hands above his head and kiss him deeply, letting the passion build until he thrusts his hips up a little. "Patience, Lover," I tease and guide him to my entrance, taking him inside my body. His eyes are glued to where we're connected and he splays a hand on my lower abdomen, rubbing my clit with his thumb.

"Slow," I moan, throwing my head back and letting the pleasure wash over me. His tempo changes to match my slow one as I rise and fall, and his other hand rests at my waist, occasionally moving up to tweak a nipple. Another sound escapes me, higher and more urgent, and Eric sits up to bury his face in my neck and murmur half-intelligible words to me. This is probably my favourite position because of the maximum contact, and I'm reminded as to why yet again when Eric begins sucking on my chest.

"I'm close." And my legs are getting tired, but I can hold on for a bit more. "Touch me." I gasp, closing my eyes as his thumb caters to my clit and I'm done for, crying out as I clench around him. He rearranges us so that he's on top, with my legs resting on his shoulders, and prolongs my pleasure until I'm crying out again and grasping at the pillows as I come. He pulls out, which is so not okay with me, and buries his face between my legs. I'm a bit sensitive so he avoids my clit until he thinks I can handle it again, and then tells me to roll on my side.

"I want you to come," I pout, and moan when he moves my leg back to rest on his and pushes in. I don't need him to be Mr Super Stamina right now; I just want him to get off like he got me off, so I give it all I've got until he's groaning in my ear.

"You're not going to get to finish if you keep doing that," my husband whispers when I give him a squeeze.

"Yeah I will." I move his hand down between my legs and replace it at my breast, crying out and coming with him as he unloads inside my body. I briefly wonder if I'll get pregnant and push the thought aside; it'll happen if it happens, and until then I just want this, want him. He rolls onto his back, breathing heavily and looking over when I giggle out of sheer happiness.

"I would have been fine if you hadn't put those kegels you do to good use," he laughs. He hadn't spoken for a full minute when in response to him asking me what I was doing over the phone I had told him I was doing my kegels, and for weeks afterwards, as we would sit doing mundane things, he would ask me if I was doing them.

"I wanted you to feel good too," I smile and tuck my body against his.

"I did! But now we have to wait until I can be inside you again," his voice drops to _that_ register and I look up to quirk a brow at him.

"And oh, what to do with all those thirty seconds!" I roll my eyes at him, playfully.

"Hey now, not once have I heard you complain."

"I'll admit they were all moans of pleasure, but it doesn't make you any less insatiable." I smile a little bit. "What would you have done if you'd been with one of those girls who can only go once?"

"I would have dumped her for you," he shrugs, all nonchalance, then breaks into his huge, breathtaking grin.

"I think I should be offended that you'd dump me if I couldn't keep up with you sexually. But mostly I just think you're silly," I move to straddle his waist. I kiss his collarbone and his neck, and then the cleft in his chin before claiming his lips. He's all sweaty. "What would you have done if you were with somebody when we met?" Eric gives me a look like he's disappointed in me for resorting to this level of subtle manipulation to get him to express his feelings. "I'm not fishing for a romantic declaration," I chuckle. "I'm serious." I think I would have been pretty damn miserable; to be in love with someone who not only didn't love me back, but who was also taken? So much angst. I shudder at the thought.

"I don't think it would have changed how I felt about you. But it would have made us hooking up less likely."

"You wouldn't have committed infidelity for this?" I feign shock and run my hands down my body.

"I said 'less likely', not 'unlikely'," he winks, reaching up to cup the undersides of my breasts.

"I think you just made moral ambiguity sweet," I giggle then sigh in pleasure when he pinches my nipple. I kind of want him again, but he gets a thoughtful look and his hands drop to hold my hips.

"What if you had had a boyfriend?"

"I would probably have been in denial," I grin. "But I'm glad it turned out the way it did." Eric reaches over for my left hand and rubs a thumb over the plain platinum ring. It's his way of saying he agrees with me. "You're the love of my life," I tell him, smiling to keep from sounding overly dramatic. "If I believed in soulmates, you'd be that too." Maybe I do believe in soulmates. The way we click, how we can tell what the other is thinking before they even verbalize it; that can't be faked. It's been there since the beginning. Now, he eyes me for a second and then slips off the ring he'd continued toying with.

"What are you doing?" I ask and he shows me the inscription on the inside of the ring. "Oh, is that Swedish? What does that say?" He doesn't really know that much Swedish anymore, just enough to get him by if he ever goes back but he whips it out every now and then to show off.

"It says, _Min Själsfrände_." The first part of the second word is like an exhale, a mere whisper, and wait for him to continue. "It means 'My Soulmate'."

Instant tears.

I sniffle and wipe them away. "You think I'm your soulmate?" That is so not his style. Another thing that is out of character? My tears. I don't know what's going on with me tonight.

"That's what the ring says," he smiles and pulls me down for a kiss.

"Say it again, how is it pronounced?" He does, a couple of more times, until I've got the hang of it. "I think I sound silly."

"You sound like you've never spoken Swedish in your life."

"Crazy." I roll my eyes and move his hands back up to my breasts. "You were in the middle of something," I tell him with a pointed look.

"I wouldn't say I was in the _middle_ of something. You would have to ask very nicely for me to get busy like that." Scoffing, I narrow my eyes and move off of his body to lie back, letting my hand drift down to between my legs. I do a big show, moaning his name softly as I throw my head back and arch into my own touch. It's all a little bit silly, or so I think until I look back up and he's giving me a heated gaze and stroking himself absently. That is quite possibly the biggest turn on ever and I want him so badly but he hoarsely orders me to keep going, which rapidly becomes the competition to him touching himself. I've never done this before so a part of me is mortified, but it's hard to be embarrassed when the evidence of how attractive he finds me is _right there_. Oh god. I do as he wants until I'm dangerously close and then I stop, noting that his hand is barely moving fast enough to get him off. He's just playing with himself, really.

"Why did you stop?"

I let my finger rub over my opening before responding with, "I want you to make me come." I can swear his eyes darken as he crawls over to capture my mouth in a hungry kiss. When the kiss breaks, I bring my finger to his mouth and he takes it inside, licking it clean and moaning, and blowing my mind in the process. He's such a fucking sex god that I'm shocked I can even keep up and keep him interested sometimes. We kiss again, his tongue slipping into my mouth as he thrusts in, and I'm wound so tightly that I almost come instantly. We fucksex until we both get off, loud and dirty, and throw our exhausted bodies onto the mattress, too sated to even attempt to cuddle.

"You're so sexy," I sigh.

"Well don't sound so upset. We don't have to have sex if you don't want. Isn't that how married people roll?"

"Shut up," I pout and roll onto my side.

Eric smiles. "Why did you say that?"

"Because that was so hot." I bury my face in my hands. "And then you licked my finger and- argh!"

"Honey, you started getting yourself off right in front of me." He rolls over to press his body to mine. "I almost embarrassed myself like a horny teenager."

"That was really hot," I whisper again.

"It was pretty fucking amazing. Let's be newlyweds forever."

I laugh. "We can get a divorce every now and then to keep things fresh."

"You're the best."

"Oh I know." Quite frankly though, I feel so inexperienced with him half the time, because of all the women he has slept with and all the men I have not. I'm really quite boring in bed and in my personal life, despite what the gossip magazines say. Just because I write best-sellers doesn't mean I'm crazy in the sack, I'd once told Eric and he'd given me a look like I was a moron. With Eric I'm far more willing to try new things, torn as I am between curiosity and embarrassment over my own lack of experience. Not that he ever makes me feel anything other than absolutely beautiful and sexy. Now, he grins as he sits up to pull me into his lap and I can't help grinning back. He's just so good-looking when he smiles. "You're my husband," I muse, "I managed to tame the great Detective Northman."

"But let that be our little secret, alright?" He laughs and kisses my shoulder.

"Which part, the taming part or the marriage part? Because I don't think I can keep the marriage thing a secret. There's two rings now, you know?" I wave my hand in his face.

"Ha-ha." He pulls me closer in his lap and I look down to ogle him, not at all subtly. "Eyes up here. Besides, I'm now Mr Susannah Stackhouse. There are hundreds of thousands of fans who wish me dead, because I managed to put a ring on the finger of the elusive best-selling author."

"I'm not elusive!" Not to him. I've been his since the very beginning.

"Elusive to them." He waves his hand, and I press my chest against his. Looking down at my crazy cleavage, he lets his hands drift down to cup my ass and I giggle. He's hard again. My husband has the libido of a teenager. "Your breasts are fucking amazing."

"And you, my dear," I guide him inside me, "are fucking huge."

888

I almost want to sit down and cry when halfway through August I realize that once again, I'm late. I'm fucking pissed that I keep losing track of it, but really, it has always been like clockwork. And I've been so concerned with _not_ keeping track of it, _not_ forcing the baby thing, that I completely forgot. Though apparently I succeeded in not forcing the baby thing, so really, I should be proud of myself.

Except I'm having a bit of a panic attack, and this time I want Eric here, not Tara. I will have to wait quite a lot of hours before he'll be home, however, and after I spend what feels like hours – but turns out to be ten minutes – reading, I toss the book aside and grab my purse.

This is bullshit. He's my husband, and I'm potentially pregnant. I am pulling the wife card and barging into his workplace because I need him. The woman at the front desk is a bit unwilling to let me sign in and give me a visitor's pass, but I'm quite convincing when I want to be so five minutes later I'm taking the elevator up. Eric's not at his desk, which is nothing new, but I find him in the conference room his team likes monopolizing. They're all elbow-deep in files and data, and seem quite busy as they discuss whatever their case entails, but all look up as I knock and step in. I realize, as they all regard me curiously, that I must have a case of the crazy eyes.

"Hi guys." I give a little wave.

"What's wrong?" Eric asks cautiously, clearly seeing that _something_ is wrong.

"Nothing. I can tell you guys are busy, and I'm so sorry about this, but do you think I can steal you during a break or something?" I wait, and watch as Twining, McKenna, and Zervos look at Eric and wait for him to respond. I realized, about as soon as I walked in, that by barging in and expecting Eric to drop everything for me right in front of his team I almost jeopardized his authority. So at the last minute, I remembered to give him an out. I'm pulling the wife card because I want him to cater to me but I don't want it to fuck with his work. When our eyes meet, I know that he realizes this too, and I'm grateful that he's not mad.

"Yeah, I can meet you for lunch? At noon."

I check my watch. It's eleven-thirty. "Yeah. Sorry for interrupting again, guys." My husband's team says goodbye, and Eric waves with a smile as I pop back out. I'm frankly a bit disappointed, with the bit of a mess I almost made and the save I attempted, which ended up in me having to kill a whole half-hour that feels like a lot right now. I just want my husband, I think as I rest my head on the steering wheel. My phone rings, right at twelve, and I tell Eric that I am in the underground garage, in row G, and he meets me three minutes later. I hop out of the car and walk into his arms, dissolving into tears instantly.

"Honey, what's wrong?" he asks, sounding more than a bit alarmed.

"I'm late," I sob, my hands clawing at his back to hold him tighter.

"And why are you crying?" He murmurs in my ear because I refuse to look up.

"I'm so scared, Eric."

"Why are you scared?" I pull back to frown at him.

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"Tell me what you're afraid of," he tells me quite calmly.

I narrow my eyes for a long moment and then realize what he's doing. "I don't know for sure if I'm pregnant," I begin evenly, "but assuming I am, I'm afraid of having another miscarriage."

"Why?" Asshole. Asshole with a psychologist ex-wife.

"Because it already happened once and it could happen again."

"Yes it could." I do a double-take, waiting for more but receiving nothing.

"That's all you've got, husband of mine?" I can't help sounding disappointed.

"Yeah," he smiles sadly. "It could happen again. And again. But we were willing to take the risk because it's worth it, if we get to have a baby. And because we have each other, and I'm here for you, whatever you need. Okay?"

I take a deep, calming breath, and then another, and then another. My arms are still locked around his waist and he seems content to just hold me, in the underground garage of the Calgary police station.

"I'm sorry I just barged in." I murmur into his chest.

"It's okay. Thanks for not emasculating me in front of my team," he laughs, a little bit.

"I almost did," I admit. "Because, you know, I'm the most important thing in your life."

"You are," he grins. I grin back, pleased that he actually agreed with me.

"I just really needed you. If I'd spent the next six hours at home waiting, I would have lost my mind."

"I get it. I wouldn't have wanted that either, I'm glad you came." Resting his forehead against mine, he tucks my hair behind my ear and just like that, I feel better.

"Kiss me," I murmur and reach up, letting him distract me for a few minutes. I love kissing him because of the simple intimacy of it. Even if the feeling when he's inside me is unparalleled, the softness of his lips and the feel of his hand at the small of my back make me desperately happy.

"We should get you something to eat," I murmur after a several long moments of bliss.

"Or, you could fuck me in the back of your car." He inclines his head towards the car, and I bite my lip.

"Okay, but I'm going to bring you lunch later. You need to eat something."

He laughs, and says, "Yes, wife," as he follow me to the backseat where he shimmies off his jeans and pushes my skirt out of the way. A very happy while later, I run to pick up a sub and some chips for Eric while he heads back to work. Later, at home, I call my doctor and make an appointment, and insist Eric doesn't have to accompany me since I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant. Dr Ludwig agrees with me, and I go home for the second time in three months with the confirmation of a pregnancy, which is quite impressive if you consider how long it takes some couples to conceive.

The following two months are some of the most nerve-wracking of my entire life. I snap at Eric almost hourly, over breathing too loudly or handing me the wrong remote, and he somehow manages to not ask for his ring back. Not even once. He caters to my practically insatiable libido constantly, even though I'm quite certain more than once that he's beyond exhausted. Plus, I cry. All the time, over nothing, and this is all on top of all the time I spend with my head in the toilet.

All in all, there are days when I'm pretty sure if I wasn't housing his baby in my belly, Eric would dump my ass, even if he is pretty insistent about being in love with me or something. I justify how much of a pregnant-zilla I am being by telling myself that it's all because of the miscarriage anxiety, otherwise I would be a joy to be around. Eric tells me, over and over again, that he gets it, that he'll do whatever I want even when I'm crying because I've been such a horrible wife. In October we've somehow managed to make it to the second trimester, the chance of miscarriage has decreased, and I begin to relax. The mood swings that until now were caused by my nerves, sadly, do not go away.

"I'm so sorry, Baby," I weep one night after I've screamed at him over getting the wrong brand of ice cream, five months into my pregnancy.

"It's okay!" He wraps my in his arms. "Look at me, do I look upset?"

I pull back to give him a good look, sniffling. "No. But I'm a terrible wife. I'm supposed to make you happy and all I do is yell even though you bought me ice cream at three in the morning." The end of my sentence rises in pitch until it's a squeal, and Eric – my poor, desperate Eric – begins to pepper my face with kisses until I shut up and completely change gears.

"I want you," I whisper, my face streaked with tears.

"I want you too," he smiles.

"Even though I'm fat?"

"You're not fat. You're giving us a baby." He pulls off his shirt and lies back on the couch, and I tug off his sweats before straddling him so he can rid me of my nightgown. It's a bit more challenging now to have sex, and I'm a little sad that he can't get on top of me the way he used to, when I would wrap my legs around his waist and he would hide his face in my neck as we fucked like two horny teenagers. This is good too, though. Different now – more reverent on his part – since I started showing. Now when we fuck, his hand rests on my stomach and he kisses me like I'm the air he breathes. Afterwards, he nuzzles my stomach and presses a kiss into the firm bump before helping me sit up. Drowsy as I am, I just smile softly as he re-dresses me and himself.

"I know it's not what you wanted, but do you want this anyways or would you rather go to bed?" He asks, gesturing at the ice cream. It's probably a bit melted at this point, but I can't deny my strawberry ice cream craving.

"I want it in bed," I admit, a tad shyly. He gives me a quick smile and grabs me a spoon. Upstairs, I crawl under the covers and snuggle into Eric's side as I dig in. "Would you like some?"

"You sure?" He knows how possessive I am of my midnight cravings.

"Yeah," I smile and feed him some before finishing up the whole pint. "Thank god I'm burning up thousands of calories, otherwise I'd be ginormous." I laugh a little bit because I am about to get pretty ginormous. As it is, I've gained about fifteen pounds or so.

"But you're not," Eric reassures me as I burrow down under the covers and amongst my various pillows. He teased me once for having so many, and I gave him a look that resulted in his immediately backtracking and apologizing.

"Thank you for still loving me," I say quietly into the darkness as I hold the hand he has resting on my stomach.

"Of course. Who else would I love?"

"Someone who isn't deeply pregnant and doesn't act like your slave driver." I shrug. "I know I'm a handful, so thank you for handling me."

"Sookie, it's my baby too. You do your thing by keeping the bun in the oven, and I make sure you're as happy as you possibly can be when you have a whole person growing inside you, fucking with your hormones."

"But I still feel bad about it."

"How about this, for every time you had your head in the toilet because of he baby, you can yell at me over something trivial."

"What if my yelling outnumbers the puking?"

"Oh, instant divorce," he responds without missing a beat, and I hit him with a pillow. My husband laughs and presses a kiss into my temple before spooning my body again.

"Thank you for being mine," I giggle.

"Ditto."

"Now go to sleep. You have to be up in three hours."

"Yes dear."

Three days later, I have lunch with Tara.

"So how's it going, baby mama?"

"Pretty good," I smile and order a Shirley Temple for lack of a different option. "We found out the sex of the baby." It had been all I could do to not blurt it out the moment I sat down, since I literally found out three hours ago.

"Really? Tell!"

"We're having a boy." I am so far beyond excited. Not that I would have been any less excited if it had been a girl, but we're both greedy to know more about this person we're going to be raising for the next two decades. Our son. Eric and I will be raising a son. It still seems surreal.

"That's so exciting! He's going to be a heartbreaker, that's for sure."

"He's not even born yet!" I laugh. Not for another four months. This may be the longest four months of my life. Regardless, I have a really nice lunch with my best friend, during which we discuss things that have nothing to do with my pregnancy or how she thinks JB is planning on proposing. It's a relief sometimes to get away from our shockingly domestic lives, even though we're both very happy. It's nice to have some girl time, and I head home to find Eric asleep in front of the TV since he took off the entire day for the doctor's appointment. Covering him with an afghan, I perch on the edge of the couch and stroke his hair back from his face. He inhales deeply as he awakens and smiles drowsily up at me.

"Hi Baby. How was lunch?"

"It was fun. You can keep sleeping though, I just wanted to say 'Hi'."

"Okay." He gives my hand a squeeze and closes his eyes again. He was up quite late last night, working on a case that they solved, so it's totally understandable that he's crashing at two in the afternoon. Besides, it's Friday and we're usually content to just laze about and do nothing on this day. The next two days are for light chores. Right now though, I really want a bath so I head upstairs and draw myself the works; bath bomb, candles, glass of grape juice, good book. I've recently gotten pretty hooked on Douglas Coupland, and I let myself sink into the water as I get absorbed in the story. About the time when I'm done with reading but not with the bath, Eric pads into the bathroom and sinks down on the floor beside the tub.

"Hey you." I smile. He looks adorable with his bed-head and drowsy eyes. He's got that little smile going that really reminds me of why I fell in love with him, and why I love waking up next to him every morning.

"Hi." He rests his elbow on the edge of the tub and rests his head on that hand to regard me with this content look on his face.

"Would you like to join me?"

My husband shakes his head. "I'm good right here. I missed you today."

"I was only gone for a couple of hours," I chuckle. "And then you were napping, sleepyhead."

"I missed my wife, don't judge me for this." He extends his hand along the edge of the tub and I take it, noting the way our wedding rings glint merrily in the light.

"I'm getting all pruny." I hold up my other hand and grin. "But the water is still warm."

"So stay in. Getting pruny doesn't hurt."

"Will you stay here and talk to me?"

"Yup. So, a boy, huh?" His eyes twinkle. We spent a lot of time flip-flopping back and forth, trying to decide if we wanted to know the sex or if we wanted to keep it a surprise. We were pretty much done with surprises though, so we finally gave in and asked our doctor.

"Yeah. A tiny you. I'm pretty stoked."

"It makes me feel all kinds of fatherly to think about having a son," he admits with a chuckle. I know what he means, that having a son he can raise into a man is far different from a daughter he'll protect and raise into a woman. It's some masculine thing I can only pretend to understand. Now, I just smile at him and ask him to hand me the towel. My husband nuzzles my hair as he dries me off and wraps the towel around me, brushing past to drain the tub.

"You're going to take care of me?" I ask with a coy smile when he leads me into the bedroom, earning myself a quirked brow.

"Do you _need_ me to take care of you?"

"I need you for _something_."

"What do you need me for, Sookie?"

I give it some thought, eyeing him up and down. The way his t-shirt is filled out, how it stretches across his broad chest, and the hint of blonde hair peeking out from the v-neck. He started getting his hair cut shorter a while after we met, so now it's more of a buzz-cut that somehow still really becomes him and highlights the lines of his jaw. It's less for me to grab onto when he's going down on me, but it's okay. He's still so sexy.

"I need you inside me."

Much, much later, he presses his body against my back and plants kisses all over my neck and shoulder. "You're amazing."

"That's good to hear. You're pretty amazing yourself." I close my eyes and smile when his hand slides up my thigh to my ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "Will you let your hair grow out?"

"What?"

"I liked it when it was a bit longer. I had something to grab onto."

Giving me a long look, Eric nods once. "I can do that. But what's in it for me?"

"Name your terms; we can negotiate. Though I don't know how willing I will be, considering it's your baby in my stomach."

"Naked Sunday."

I really should have seen that one coming. He's been angling for it for ages, and I always say no because it seems so silly. "What, are we just going to spend all day in bed?"

"We do whatever we want. Shower, cook, watch TV." He shrugs.

"You mean watch porn." Yet another thing he's been angling for. "Eric, I don't know."

"It doesn't have to be porn. We can just do Naked Sunday, and the porn thing we can revisit later." He's grinning, and he looks so hopeful that I can't bring myself to crush his dreams.

"You sure you don't want to do this once I'm not pregnant?" I have to ask. I'm a little bit insecure, here.

"We can do it then, too. We can make it a regular thing, as far as I'm concerned."

I can't help laughing. "We can't spend a whole day walking around naked when we have a child, Eric." He considers that for a second, his expression settling on what can only be described as a pout. "But we can do Naked Sunday. This weekend?"

"Really?" My husband's face lights right up, like a child on Christmas Eve. Though, considering the context, maybe I shouldn't liken him to a child.

"Yeah. Let your hair grow out, and I will take off my clothes before going to bed tomorrow night and not put on a single article until the following night."

"You are quite possibly the very best wife in the whole wide world," he tells me quite certainly and I laugh and call him a goof. After twenty or so minutes of just cuddling and talking, we peel ourselves off the sheets and get dressed, heading downstairs to throw together some dinner.

"Baby, will you put up the Christmas lights for me tomorrow? I forgot to ask you earlier." I pout when he groans. "Christmas is in ten days. Please please please?"

"Why does it have to be tomorrow?" he complains.

"Because you'll be too tired during the week, and I guess theoretically you could do it on Sunday but then you'd have to be naked and it's -30 degrees outside." He scowls, realizing that I've talked him into a corner here.

"Fine."

"And we can get a tree? And decorate it?"

"Honey," he groans.

"What, you didn't anticipate this? It's Christmas, Eric. It's mid-December, the time of the year during which Christmas approaches, every single year."

He can tell that he's walking a pretty dangerous path here and shuts up. "I'll put up the lights tomorrow morning. Can you make paninis for lunch?"

Smart man. I am okay with negotiating if he has something good to offer. "Yes. And soup too, so you can warm up afterwards." I smile, and accept the kiss he offers. "And then?"

"We'll go get you your freaking tree and decorate it, oh darling wife."

Pleased, I plate the stir fry and take both plates to the living room, smiling at him when he takes a seat next to me. We eat dinner in front of the TV and laze about afterwards until it's bedtime, and then we crawl under the covers, sleeping together once more before sleeping together. The next day, I make French toast before bundling Eric up so he can head outside and put up the variety of Christmas lights I've dragged up from the basement, much to Eric's initial displeasure. I feel a bit bad that I'm making him get up on a ladder when it's so cold out, but this is how it always is in Calgary, in December. I had to do it myself last year, and I had to force Eric to at least put up a tree in his apartment even though we were spending Christmas together with his brother's family. Regardless, when I hop out to see how he's doing, I'm more than pleasantly surprise.

"Good work, Detective!" I call out, fidgeting to ward off the beyond-freezing cold in my cardigan. Up on the ladder, with his gloved hand steadying him on the gutter, Eric looks down to frown at me.

"Baby, get inside before you die of hypothermia."

"Alright, alright. Just wanted to say I appreciate what you're doing." I grumble the last part and his "Thank you!" follows me inside the house. I already have the soup going, so I get the panini press out of the cabinet and set to making Eric's favourite. He stomps in a while later, spreading snow all over the front room as he kicks off his boots and hanging up his jacket.

"Hey you," I smile. His cheeks are flushed, and he's looking so good to me right now. Jesus, I'm so horny all the time. "Thank you for doing that."

"You are very welcome. It actually looks good, I think." I ladle some minestrone soup into a bowl and push it across the kitchen island where he takes a seat to dig in. The panini press dings to signal it's done, and I soon join him as we stuff our faces with lunch. Later, we both bundle up and drive to the suburbs where we pick up a tree that we set up in the corner of our living room, decorating it as holiday music plays. I pour us both some eggnog, spiking Eric's cup with a bit of rum. He takes a sip, in the middle of draping tinsel, and quirks a brow at me.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Maybe. And I may be living a bit vicariously through you." I set down my own cup and take his to do the same. "And maybe, I just want to get you liquored up so you'll dance with me." He smiles and, in the middle of our living room, surrounded by half-open boxes of decorations and warmed by the fireplace, he pulls me into his arms and we dance to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

"It's our first Christmas as a married couple," I murmur into his chest. He smells like the cologne I bought for his birthday in September. Closing my eyes, I let his scent and the sound of his heartbeat wash over me. His arms are wrapped tightly around my waist and I smile when he buries his nose in my hair and presses a kiss into my ear.

"Are you happy?"

I pull back, my arms still around him to meet his eyes. "More than I thought I ever could be. Despite everything that happened over the summer, I'm happy now. Are _you_ happy?" My husband takes a long moment to respond, looking around us at the living room and then down at my bump.

"Three years ago, I spent Christmas with Adrian at Katie's parents' in Lethbridge. Her sister and I went on an emergency basil run and fucked in the back of my car, and it was so bad that we spent the following two days avoiding each other."

"Great." I roll my eyes.

"Don't worry, she moved to Paris." He gives me a squeeze and continues, "This Christmas, I'm married and we're expecting. If someone had told me that Christmas what I would be doing this Christmas, I would have laughed at them. You've changed my life, Sookie, and you're the best thing that has ever happened to me." His forehead rests on mine and I squeeze my eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. "God, please don't cry."

"I won't!" I sniffle and hurriedly wipe at my eyes, offering him a smile that he returns, looking a little unsure. "I'm done, I promise. Come here." He lets me pull him down for a kiss, and I pull away for a second to stand on the couch to give his neck a break as we keep kissing. "I love you," I murmur, kiss his forehead and his nose before returning to his lips again. "I love you, I love you, I love you. Don't you dare ever leave me."

"Where would I go without you?" he smiles, and we hold each other for a long moment before continuing to decorate the tree.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Wow, I really took my time with this one, eh? So sorry about that, you guys! I've been on vacation and it's been hard finding the time to get online and post, let alone write. On a different note, it's so much warmer here in California than it was in the freezer I call home! I am never leaving here.  
>I'd love to here what you think, and I am so grateful to those of you who've continued to read and review. Y'all are the best!<p>

* * *

><p>And the vision of us may be blurry,<p>

But use your heart to see,

Just follow the beat,

The rhythm will lead you right back to me.

"Casualty of Love", Jessie J

Chapter Eight

We Skype Jason on Christmas Eve, and I get to see my little niece Jane who is actually seven now. Everyone may say this, but it really does feel like just yesterday when I flew out for her birth. Now, she smiles and chatters away to Eric and I about her best friend and the scooter she wants for Christmas, until Crystal calls her away. Things grow a bit strained when Jason replaces her; my brother met Eric the first Thanksgiving we were together and it had been a little tense, to put it kindly. Not only did Crystal eyefuck Eric the whole time, but Jason has always been a bit of a Neanderthal when it comes to the men I date, and Eric's cool and collected attitude had done little to comfort Jason of his affections. I'd actually caught him trying to give Eric a talking to, and had lost my shit a little bit until Eric had calmed me down.

So, there is no love lost between the two of them. Not that it really matters anyways since the only reason I keep in touch with my brother is because of his daughter. We do manage to have a civil Skype conversation, if a very polite one, before logging out to head over to Adrian's place. At Northman Senior's house we sit around and flip through old photo albums, sharing laughs over the more hilarious shots of both the Northman brothers and later, of the younger generation, who appear to be more than a bit unhappy with this. Paige actually starts pouting so Adrian pulls her into his lap, soothing her with a photo of him making silly faces at baby Eric.

"Aww, look at you!" I gush. Baby Eric had huge blue eyes and a mess of blonde hair, and in the photo he's sitting beside five-year-old Adrian who is smiling at the camera while his baby brothers watches in awe. "You guys were adorable."

"Were?" Adult Eric wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my cheek with a low chuckle before offering me more eggnog.

"This bodes well for our kid," I wink, holding out my cup for him to top off. "Both his parents were adorable babies."

"Oh yeah, he's going to be a heartbreaker."

"I'm sure we'll have a blast when he's a teenager."

Riley, who has long since been bored with the photo albums, begs us to put in _Kalle Anka_, or Donald Duck, which I've learned is a tradition in Sweden adjusted a little bit in order to be maintained here. Our first Christmas, Eric and Adrian had calmly explained to me that everybody in Sweden watches it on Christmas day, regardless of age.

"So it just comes on TV and all your people drop everything to watch it?"

"Yup," the brothers Northman had confirmed without a hint of humour.

This year, however, _Kalle Anka _will be watched on Christmas Eve since Eric and I will be spending Christmas by ourselves and Adrian, Katie and the kids will be in Lethbridge with Katie's parents.

Katie tops off everybody's eggnog one last time, spiking the non-pregnant adults', and making sure the kids know they'll be going to bed right after since it'll be nine by then. They grouse but cuddle up to us as the movie starts. Riley eyes my baby bump a few times before finally asking me about it.

"Aunt Sookie, when will the baby be out?"

"Three more months," I grin and Eric shoots me a wink.

Riley gives that some thought. "That seems like a long time."

"I'll keep you posted," I promise.

"Can I meet him then?"

"Of course, sweetie." I pat his hand and he seems pretty satisfied. Katie starts the movie, and I get about halfway through it before my eyelids begin to droop and I lean into Eric's body. My husband wraps an arm around my shoulders and kisses my hair.

"Tired?"

"Just a little drowsy." I smile when he kisses me again, this time on the nose.

"We'll go home in a bit," he promises.

"Sure. Watch the movie."

I drift in and out of sleep for the rest of _Kalle Anka_ and only really snap out of it when Riley shakes me awake. I rub my eyes and sit upright, finding Eric and Adrian smiling at me while Katie attempt to usher the kids upstairs. "Say goodnight and merry Christmas, you guys." She nudges, and we all get hugs and well wishes from the two tiniest Northmans, who will soon be joined by another Northman, I note as my hand gravitates to my stomach like it tends to do. Eric helps me haul my ass off the couch, and we say goodnight to our small family before heading out.

"Are you going to be okay to drive?" I ask suddenly, out in the freezing night.

"Yeah, my eggnog was rum-free."

"Really?" I hadn't even noticed. Regardless, about forty minutes later we're home, preparing to go to bed. I strip down to my panties and tug on an oversized t-shirt while Eric is just wearing his boxers, and we go through our respective bedtime routines before climbing in. Of course, all of a sudden I'm no longer that sleepy.

"How are you feeling?" Eric asks, sitting up next to me.

"Alright. My back hurts, my boobs are tender and my feet are sore. So, pretty good." I chuckle a little bit. "Aren't you just so charmed by me right now?" My husband chuckles and pushes the covers off to reach my feet. "Oh, you're a saint." I moan when he begins rubbing them.

"I know. So what did you get me for Christmas?"

I laugh. "Oh, were we getting each other presents?"

"Cute." His hands stop moving and I wiggle my toes pointedly in his lap, pouting.

"What did you get me?" I ask with a coy smile.

"See, you can't flirt with me when I have your stinky feet in my lap. It takes the magic away."

"Hey!" I move my feet away and he pulls them back.

"Kidding, I was kidding. But I'm still not going to tell you what I got you. But I will say that if you hate it, I will take you to return it and get something else."

"I doubt I will hate it. Unless you got me crime scene photos or something."

Eric rolls his eyes. "Because I would do that."

I watch him for a second and then take my feet back, thanking him with a kiss. "Do you ever think about doing something else?"

"Giving foot rubs professionally?"

It's definitely my turn to roll my eyes. "No, smartass. Something else. Something that doesn't make you shut down." My husband slumps against the pillows.

"I don't know. Maybe, in a few years. Why?"

"I can tell it gets to you, all the shit you see."

"I like my job," he says softly. "I like getting to help the victims' families, I like getting to put criminals behind bars. And I'm good at it."

I can tell he's getting a bit defensive, and I rush to reassure him. "I know you are. I've seen it, remember? You're an amazing cop and I'm not negating that. I just…"

"What?"

"I worry about you," I admit. "I worry about the toll it's taking on you, and that worn-out look you get in your eyes when a case gets really tough to handle." Pausing, I take a deep breath and try to find the courage to continue. "And I worry that you'll get hurt, that I'll get a call from the hospital or Twining telling me that you're hurt, or god forbid, gone. I don't know what I would do, and now that I'm pregnant it just makes the stakes so much higher, Eric."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"But you can't promise me that!"

"I'm not an idiot, Sookie. I know what I'm doing."

"That's not convincing either. Eric, if anything happens to you-"

"Stop it, okay?" His gorgeous blue eyes lock onto mine. "Dying is not anywhere on my list of priorities. I have too much to live for, remember?" He smiles and wipes away the tears that fell since I got myself all worked up.

"I just can't lose you."

"And you won't.

"Eric."

"Hush, wife of mine." He presses his lips to mine and I kiss him back.

"I just love you so much." Now that I've gotten myself thinking about it, it's hard to stop. I can live without him, I know I can. If we were to break up today, as damaged as I may be and as long as it would take, I would still be able to live on. But if he died? There is a difference between not having him because he doesn't want to be mine and not having him because he's dead, and I can only imagine how it will feel to lose him like that.

"Stop thinking like that. What's gotten into you?" He tangles his hands in my hair so I can't look away. "You never said anything about this before."

"I just didn't let myself think about it so much." The tears are definitely falling freely now.

"Listen to me, I love you. I'm a _good_ cop, and I can take care of myself. Nothing is going to happen to me, and I won't do this forever. You know I won't."

"If you die, I will crash your car," I threaten, trying for some levity.

"That's fine, because I won't die. Not for another sixty or seventy years, at least. I'll still be all over you in the retirement home, dentures and all."

"Viagra all the way, huh?"

"I don't need Viagra!" He looks offended.

"Honey, you will when you're ninety. You probably even will when you're fifty or so."

"Well that's offensive."

"Accept it, old man. You're thirty-five now."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

He laughs and rolls onto his side, throwing an arm across my hips below my bump and with his nose pressed into my side. The baby moves in response and nudges him, eliciting a smile from both of us.

Glancing over at the clock on the bedside table I say, "Hey Eric."

"Yes?"

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Baby. And, merry Christmas, baby," he adds with a chuckle.

"Next year, we'll actually know who he is," I muse as I adjust my various pillows and settle myself on my side. "I guess we should start thinking about names."

"Eric Jr. not cutting it for you?"

"Eric can be his middle name," I compromise, patting his hair. "I think two Erics in one house may be two too many."

"Hey now."

"Just kidding!" I grin. "Johan?"

"That's very Swedish; A for effort. Fabian?"

"I had a Fabian in my school who picked on the little kids." I grimace. "Veto. I'm liking the idea of a Swedish name though. Gunner?"

"And that is the name of the child Fabian will push into a locker. Veto. Thor?"

"Yeah, we're getting a divorce. Sorry."

"Fair enough. You know, it doesn't have to be a Swedish first name, since my name is already Swedish. I mean, if you were serious about using my name." He looks a tad nervous about that.

"Of course! I would want my son named after my fantastic husband." I tickle his side and he squirms a little bit. "Finn? I've always loved that name."

"As in, Finnegan?"

"Not necessarily." I shrug. "Finn Eric Northman?"

"It's not the name of your high school boyfriend or anything, is it?"

"It's Bill's middle name," I deadpan then drop it. "Why would I want that?"

"Just making sure," he chuckles. "Finn Northman. Finn Eric Northman. It's a lot of short names. But I like it, it'll confuse all the Irish and the Swedes."

I laugh. "Okay then."

"What if he's not a Finn when we meet him?"

"Then we'll change it. It's not set in stone."

"Deal. You know what I want?"

"What you really, really want?" I grin and he rolls his eyes, knowing how I can't help myself.

"I wanna, I wanna, I wanna- No, but actually."

"What do you actually want?" I love that he played along.

"I want us to get matching tattoos."

"Seriously?" This is about on par with him calling me his soulmate; it's not at all his style.

"Come on, I want to be that terrible couple who have matching tattoos."

I wrinkle my nose. I always thought it was tacky when couples did that, but maybe if we found a way to make it not so terrible… "You're not going to leave me as soon as we get inked, right?"

"Cross my heart."

"What would we get?"

"I don't know. A heart with 'E+S' on it?" He's totally joking but I punch him in the bicep anyways, eliciting a laugh. "Something subtle."

"I'd be down with something tasteful, but I'd want to wait until after the baby is born." There is no way I'm risking any blood-borne conditions when our child's health is on the line, no matter how safe and clean the tattoo parlour is.

"Yeah. That will give us loads of time to figure something out." He reaches for me hand. "So you'll really do it?"

"You bet that sexy ass of yours."

"Thank you." He gives me a little peck and then yawns. "I'm exhausted."

"Me too. Good night, Mr Northman. Jag älskar dig." I say this last part with a smile, pleased with myself for the proper pronunciation.

"Jag älskar dig också, Mrs Northman."

888

It's about mid-January when I meet Adrian for lunch at Higher Ground for what has become an almost weekly occurrence. As much of a bitch parking is on Kensington, I'm pleased to find a spot across the street by the semi-decrepit movie theatre, and I hobble across the street towards the café. There's a warm Chinook wind blowing from the Rockies so it's relatively nice out, and sunny, though the spike in temperatures is really messing with the roads that until now were lined with piles of brown snow. This truly is Calgary at its worst, all slushy and wet and thigh-deep in Seasonal Affective Disorder. I pay no mind to it, grateful as I am just to get out even if Eric is making me text him everytime I leave the house and whenever I reach my destination. It's damn frustrating, and I used to be pretty terrible with it, but I get why he insists on it. It's dangerous enough driving in Calgary during the winter months, but I'm also six months pregnant and I know the miscarriage is always lurking in the back of our minds even though we're both trying to be positive about it. So after my initial frustration, I decided to cut him some slack and just do what he wants me to do. Now, I quickly locate Adrian and wave 'hello' before getting in line to order the requisite hot drink and mac & cheese. To my confusion, Adrian abandons the table and strides over to me.

"Hey, Sötnos," he grins and gives me a big hug. I smile too, at the nickname he gave me after several months of knowing me. Apparently it's colloquial Swedish for 'sweetie', or literally 'sweet nose', but I have to take his and Eric's words for it.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"I didn't want you standing in line, so why don't you just tell me what you want and I'll order for you?"

"Oh, well, are you sure?" I'm totally bluffing. In my head, he has a halo right now because my ankles are killing me.

"Yeah, tell me what you want." I do, and try to hand him some cash that he refuses. "It's on me, now scoot." I laugh, and thank him before heading over to the table he's gotten us. It's thankfully by the fire, and the seats are armchairs instead of the regular hard wooden chairs, and I carefully sink down into one to send a quick text off to Eric, telling him that I'm here and okay.

_Alright, thanks for letting me know. Text me when you're leaving?_

I almost roll my eyes, but instead sigh and tell him that I will.

_Enjoy lunch, baby :)_

Aw, okay, that takes away my irritation at him.

"Texting your bff?"

I look up to smile at Adrian. "No, just my husband. He's making me text him everytime I leave the house."

"Ah, the father-to-be paranoia. It's a Northman thing," he deadpans, and I burst out laughing since that has become a bit of a running joke between us since last year.

"Yeah, you Northmans are a bit of a high-maintenance breed, you know." I'm totally bluffing; Eric is not at all high-maintenance when I'm not housing a baby inside my body.

"Been talking to Katie, have you?"

"Maybe," I smile back and thank the server who brings us our food and drinks. I take a sip of peppermint tea and sigh in contentment.

"You really can't complain, because we're also very attentive partners," Adrian adds with confidence.

"Are you, now?"

"You bet your pregnant ass, Stackhouse."

"Your parents would have been proud, I am sure," I laugh.

"You know it. So don't let me hear you complaining about my baby brother anymore."

"I wouldn't dare," I gasp and clutch my chest. We dig into the food, making appreciative sounds the whole time. When we're done, I send a quick text off to Eric and head home to take a bath and warm up. I get out just in time to hear my phone ring and I waddle over to see Eric's name flashing on the screen.

"Shit," I mutter. I completely forgot to let him know I got home safe. "Hi Baby!" I say cheerfully into the phone, hoping that he's not too mad.

"Hey. You're home?"

"Yeah, I'm so sorry I completely forgot. Are you mad?" I wince and wait for the inevitable rebuke. I've been pretty good with not forgetting lately; I don't know what happened.

"No," he responds to my surprise. "I just wanted to make sure you were fine."

I frown. "Baby, are you okay? You sound… off." He sounds like he did before we were together, all cold and emotionally suppressed. It's setting my teeth on edge.

"I'm fine."

"Alright," I say slowly. "When are you coming home?"

"I don't know." Pause. "Late." Pause. "I have to go." Yeah, I don't like this at all. I feel like the mac and cheese I had earlier has hardened into a lump in the pit of my stomach.

"Okay, Honey. Take care."

"I love you, Sookie," he says all of a sudden, and I wonder if he's alone because he never says 'I love you' where he can be heard by his coworkers. "I've loved you from the beginning."

I hesitate as I try to fight the rising sense of panic he's eliciting in me with his weird behaviour. Resting a hand on my stomach, I relax when Finn moves around and nudges me as if to make sure I remember he's there. "I know you do, Älskare. I love you too." I can hear him taking a deep breath and releasing it, like he does sometimes when he's upset. "Just come home, okay? I'll wait up for you."

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you tonight."

We say our goodbyes and I spend the rest of the day wandering around, napping and reading and being generally useless. I discover that _American Idiot_ makes Finn kick like he's drumming, which is endlessly entertaining to me since his daddy hates the band as a whole. By nine, I've exhausted all my usual means of keeping myself entertained. I've even gone so far as to bake banana bread, and the smell is saturating the whole house, much to my happiness. It reminds me of the smell of my Gran's house, back when she was still alive and well enough to bake, and all of a sudden I desperately wish she were still alive. She would have loved Eric, after being hesitant like most of my friends and sparse family had been upon meeting him. Even Tara had been a bit taken aback when he joined us for lunch one day, because his greeting had been decidedly detached. He'd kissed me rather sweetly when Tara had gone to the bathroom though, and held my hand under the table until she'd returned. To this day, the only people he is ever touchy-feely in front of are the people he's comfortable with; his brother's family, a little bit in front of Tara, even less in front of Charles and the others. Regardless, my Gran would have understood that he makes me happy, and that would have made her happy. There are times when I desperately miss her presence in my life; she practically raised Jason and I in her farmhouse in Saskatchewan after my parents passed in a flash flood, until she herself passed away the summer before my third year of university. I shake off the nostalgia and go to warm up some milk to have with a slice of the banana bread that is just teasing me now. It's almost ten by the time I hear Eric letting himself in, and I'm practically snoozing but haul my ass off the couch to greet him. He looks like shit, and it only furthers my anxiety.

"Hey you," I smile, lightening a little when he kisses me.

"Hey. I didn't actually think you'd make it."

I shrug it off. "Are you hungry? I made some chili."

"That sounds good." He follows me to the kitchen and I take a seat beside him at the island. He eats in silence and rinses everything before sticking them in the dishwasher. Upstairs, I tell I'm going to take a shower and ask if he'd like to join me. He knows shower sex is off the table, considering the size of my bump, but he still nods and we hop under the warm spray to clean up rather wordlessly. The continued silence is really getting to me at this point, and I'm upset enough to have to talk myself out of crying because I just want to know what the hell is going on since it's rather evident that _something _is wrong. I would be inclined to think it's his work, but the phone call earlier is making me think otherwise. Regardless, Eric even goes so far as to help me shave my legs, which is incredibly sweet if potentially self-serving. Eventually I shut the water off and he hops out to wrap me in a towel before getting one for himself, and I can't help giggling when he takes a second to put the towel over my head and mess up my hair. Later, I arrange my ever-growing collection of pillows and gingerly settle myself down, reaching out to grasp his hand when he joins me under the covers.

"Tell me what's wrong." I let the sentence become a bit of a question. My husband gives me the kind of look I haven't seen since he came after me in New York and I have to fight the urge to take it back because I feel like whatever it is he has to say, I won't like it.

"I got an email today," he begins slowly, clutching my hand like he's afraid I'll pull away. "From my ex."

"Not _the_ ex." Not Natasha. I'm terrified to think of what she could possibly have to say that would unsettle him so much.

"Yeah. Natasha."

"What did she say? You guys haven't spoken in like, six years, have you?"

"No," he shakes his head and clears his throat before continuing. "She told me that when we separated, she was pregnant. She found out afterwards."

My heart drops and so does my jaw. "What?"

"She said she never told me because after the mess that was our divorce, she didn't know how to tell me. I probably would have thought it wasn't mine," he chuckles bitterly, avoiding my gaze.

"But it is?" Of course it is.

"So she says. It's a little boy, his name's Nate. Nathan. He's six." He tells me this in monotone and finally looks up to meet my gaze.

"What does she want from you? What did you tell her?"

"I don't know. I told her I needed some time to think and talk to my wife, but she wants to meet for coffee when I'm ready." Probably fair, since Natasha had six years to think. Eric pauses before adding, "Ironic, that she said I was too cold to father a child and she was pregnant." Yeah, ironic. Or something. What a bitch. The shock of the news is wearing off and now I'm just angry at Natasha; for keeping the boy a secret, for showing up now of all times. And above all, for hurting Eric like she did, for making him doubt even for a second his ability to be a good father.

A random thought occurs to me all of a sudden. "Didn't you say something about how you guys stopped having sex for a few months before you got the divorce? How could she not know?"

Eric winces. "There was one night, while we were in the process of getting the divorce…"

"Stop right there." I don't need to hear any more. "So you have a son Riley's age. Wow." Riley will be thrilled, at least.

"That's one way to put it."

"And you were worried about how I would react?"

"I was afraid you'd be angry, or hurt."

"Why would I be, you had no idea either. It would be unfair of me to blame you for something that is clearly her fault. Other than the obvious part you had in this. Which reminds me, you had unprotected sex with someone you were getting a divorce from?"

"I'll openly admit that was fucking stupid. It was a spur of the moment thing, and she'd been on the pill for years. I'm assuming she was still on the pill." He shrugs.

"Do you want to meet him?"

My husband gives that some thought. "I think so. I would want to play a role in his life, however small. Just so he knows I gave a shit. I don't even know if she's with someone now, so that'll be more to find out when we see her."

"We?" I smile.

"I would want you there. You kind of signed on for this shit when you married me, right?"

"I guess I did," I chuckle. "I'll come with you, whenever you decide to go see her."

"Thank you." He presses a kiss to my forehead and another to my lips when I tilt my head up. He looks happier now that we've talked about it, so I don't feel about deepening the kiss and letting my hands drift over his body.

"Just remember that you're mine, hmm?" I ask playfully and he responds by kneading my breast.

"How could I forget, Lover?"

Eric takes a sleepless week to think things through before responding to the email. He's quite angry with Natasha, more than I think he would be if we weren't getting ready to parent a child of our own. A few months ago even, he probably still would not have been able to fathom the depths of the things he has missed out on as a result of his ex's deception. I think he's trying to reconcile himself with the fact that the same person who called him incapable of raising a child raised his child and has only now informed him of this fact. We spend a fair bit of time talking about it, about what it would mean for us and how he would want to go about this situation. We're assuming that Natasha is also hoping for a certain level of involvement on his end of things, so that just leaves how involved _we_ want to become.

Natasha responds the following day, suggesting that the two of them meet for coffee and talk about what happens next. I'm reading the email over Eric's shoulder and he turns to give me a look before he starts typing, telling her that he would like his wife to be there as well. We decide meet at a quirky little café on 17th Ave on a Saturday at the end of January, and arrive about five minutes early. The café has a vast display of tea canisters labeled with the name and a short write-up on each tea, and the whole thing is colour-coded to distinguish between black, green, fruity and herbal teas. It's a bit like my dream come true, and we each select a canister and bring it to the counter before parking ourselves on a cluster of armchairs in the farthest corner. There's another couple sitting by the windows, and a very serious-looking man taking advantage of the free wi-fi, but the place is otherwise empty.

"You okay, Baby?" Eric's hand reaches out for mine and he gives it a little squeeze.

"Just nervous about meeting your potentially hot ex when I look like this," I joke half-heartedly.

"Well I won't lie to you, she's pretty easy on the eyes."

"And what does that make me?"

"The love of my life," he replies instantly.

"Well-played." I pour myself some vanilla rooibos tea out of the little teapot and realize that I've found a new pregnancy tea.

"I'm not excited about seeing her either. She stomped all over my heart and tap-danced on one of my biggest insecurities. The only reason I'm not going to resort to name-calling is because I'm very obviously over her and because it was six years ago."

"And because you traded up," I wink and he ogles my breasts in the babydoll dress I'm wearing and rests his hand on my knee, slipping a finger under the hem.

"I'd say so," he murmurs, leaning forward for a deep kiss.

"Whoa there cowboy, save it for later," I chuckle and pull away. He's such an ego boost whenever I feel the least bit unattractive with all the changes the pregnancy has caused.

"You're just really beautiful."

"Thank you." I hide my blush behind my tea, and my husband chuckles before glancing back to check the door.

"She's late."

"It's 1:58."

"Well, she's about to be late. She always sucked at being on time."

"I always forget that you guys had all these years together." I look over just in time to see a dark-haired woman walk in. Her eyes gloss past the other people in the café and settle on us. "Is that her?" Eric cranes his neck.

"Yeah."

Natasha gives us a nod in acknowledgement and goes to order her tea before joining us. "Hello, Eric."

"Hi." His greeting is decidedly cooler. "Meet my wife, Susannah." Good, she doesn't get nickname privileges. I hold out my hand and rather insincerely tell her it's nice to meet her. The two of them half-heartedly run through the pleasantries before bringing their attention to me.

"So, when are you due?" Natasha asks pleasantly. She's quite pretty, I'll admit. Her big green eyes are gorgeous, and her hair is the glossy brown curls that I've only ever seen in shampoo commercials. It's quite clear what Eric was attracted to, though I'm glad she's physically the complete opposite of me; tall and slim, despite having had a child.

"In April."

"Your first?" She asks us both.

"Evidently not mine," Eric remarks. Oh good, a segue, I think to myself.

"Eric, I didn't know how to tell you. We'd just spent months tearing each other to pieces, I didn't know how to tell you I was pregnant without it causing even more issues."

"And then you waited six years? It took you six years to work up the courage to mention that we have a child together?" I'm watching the pronounced line of his jaw and the tension in Natasha's posture as I hide behind my tea.

"I was a coward. And I justified it by telling myself I was too busy trying to figure out how to be a single parent, but I was wrong. You deserved to know about him because he's amazing, Eric. He's the best thing that ever happened to me, and I never realized how much it affected him, not knowing who his dad is."

"So what, you're going to introduce us? Then what?"

She sighs and looks down at her tea. It's a nice distraction, I think as I pour myself more. My snow-encrusted boots are making a bit of a mess on the old hardwood, I note before looking up to hear Natasha's response. "I would want you to be there. I get that you have your own life, but even though I hid him from you, Nate's still your child. I think he would love to meet you." Eric's ex looks at the two of us and reaches for her purse. "I brought you a couple of photos, if you doubt that he's yours at all. He looks just like you, Eric." She hands over the photos and I lean closer to my husband for a peek. Little Nathan looks to be about one in the first photo, his little feet resting on the floor as he's held, giving the camera a dimpled smile that he has inherited from his mama. The other one looks current since he appears to be heading to school if his little backpack is any indication. His hair is an unmistakable shade of blonde and I glance up at Eric's to confirm for myself that they match, even if his smile wasn't a dead giveaway as to his parentage.

"That was on the first day of school. He smiled all the way there but ended up getting a little quivery-lipped when I was about to walk away, so I had to promise to take him to the library afterwards." Eric has gotten awfully quiet and I rest a hand on his back, giving it a little rub. When he goes to hand the photos back, Natasha shakes her head and tells us it's ours. "He loves books. He can't wait to be able to read 'big boy books'. And um, he loves superhero movies, especially X-Men. He doesn't like the taste of milk, just soymilk, but he'll drink it if you put a bit of cocoa in it." She pauses, apparently at a loss for other random trivia she can give on her son, and I can't help feeling like she's trying to sell him. It irks me.

My husband finally looks up from the photos to ask, "Does everybody else know he's mine?"

She bites her lip. "Amelia knows. My sister," she adds for my benefit. "Eric always hated her."

"She threw a shitfit when you married me because she didn't approve," Eric rolls his eyes. "She must be thrilled."

"She's less than pleased. My parents suspect, but they don't know. Nobody else knows, but it's not hard to figure out if they knew the timeline."

"Does Nate know you're meeting me?" Eric asks after a pause, the name rolling uncertainly off his tongue.

"No, I didn't want to get his hopes up if you decided not to be involved."

"I want to be, but he has to be okay with it. I'm not going to force him to spend time with me if he doesn't want to."

"I'll talk to him. Maybe you guys would like to come for dinner sometime?"

Eric and I exchange a look. "Maybe not dinner. We should probably meet him before forcing our presence on him for a whole meal." He smirks.

Natasha laughs. "That's probably a good idea. So I guess I'll call you later?" This is a hint for us to give up our phone number, which I don't particularly want to do but there's nothing I can do about it. Eric gives her our home number and not long after we start to head out, bundling up against the biting cold on our short walk to the car. The car is freezing, of course, and we have to wait for it to warm up which gives us time to ruminate in the silence.

"I didn't expect to see a photo and suddenly want him," my husband admits and I reach out to take his hand.

"It's okay, you know," I say and he turns to look at me. "It's okay to love him too, even if he's not _ours_, because he'll be ours in a different sense of the word. It's okay to want to be his dad even though I'm not the mom. Being a parent to Nate and being a parent to Finn aren't mutually exclusive."

Eric releases a deep breath. "It's just confusing. You and I have gone through so much to have Finn, and all of a sudden it turns out that I have this other kid I didn't even know about. One who may or may not want me as his father, and the more I think about it, the more I want to be." I reach out for his hand when I see the torn look in his eyes. "What do I do if he doesn't want me to be his dad? How am I supposed to go on knowing that he's mine but he doesn't want to be?"

"Then, you'll just have to be there for when he needs you. Isn't that what parents do? They're there even when you don't want them. Even when you think you don't need their help." I smile when he lifts my hand to his mouth.

"When did you get to be so good at being a parent?"

"I just have more perspective is all," I wink.

"I don't know, I like my perspective." His gaze drops to my breasts under my winter coat once again.

"Do you think about anything else?"

"Not since your boobs got that big."

"You can't even see them," I laugh.

"I have object permanence, I know they're there even though I can't see them." He beams. We've both been reading enough child psychology books to know the terminology.

"Well maybe you'll get to see even more of them later, Detective," I flirt and kiss his cheek before we start our drive. "What was it like, seeing your ex-wife?"

"Strange. We were together for seven years, so I guess I didn't think about how much people can change in that amount of time."

"Lots of memories, huh?"

"Yeah. I'm curious to know what goes on in her head, seeing us together. It would be weird to see your ex-husband be somebody else's husband, right?"

"I'd say so. Probably sad too, assuming she still has feelings for you."

"I doubt that," he argues.

"I'm not insinuating anything, I'm just saying once you get past the anger, it's hard to not think about all the good times you had, you know? All the happy things that made you fall in love in the first place. It must suck to see you making memories with somebody else especially since you weren't there when she was pregnant but you obviously are with me."

My husband sighs and turns the heat up further. "Yeah, this is not easy. But it's not about our relationship, or lack thereof. It's about Nate."

"It is, husband of mine. And it doesn't matter how she feels about you because she lost her chance."

Eric gives me a sidelong glance. "I like you when you get possessive."

"I know you do,'' I wink, and we fall silent.

The next day, Eric breaks the news to his brother's family when he drops by to pick up a sweater he left behind the last time we were there. He returns a couple of hours later and I ask him how it went as we make dinner.

"He smacked the back of my head," my husband tells me with a rather bemused air. "And called me an idiot. And then chugged a beer. He'll probably call you later to make sure you're not filing for divorce."

"Aww, would I do that?" I grin and pull his forehead down for a kiss.

* * *

><p>AN: That Donald Duck movie thing is totally accurate, by the way. My Swedish prof and I had a nice talk about it, right after we had a deeply meaningful conversation about how attractive Alexander Skarsgård is. It was a nice day. Anyways, go on ahead and hit that little button below and leave me a review.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hey y'all! I'm back from two weeks in Cali, so here is the second-last chapter of Chasing Cars! I'm already working on another story (or, two) so I hope you guys will continue to stick by me once I'm done with these two (as if).  
>As always, thank you so much for your incredibly kind words! As a writer, it's always wonderful to hear what people think of my work, so keep it comin'!<p>

* * *

><p>Oh, sometimes I wonder,<p>

Will you be my shoulder, if I cry?

Would you comfort me?

Will you love me forever?

And will you take me like no other?

'Cause no, I can't say,

What's in your heart.

"I Wonder", Bobby Bazini

Chapter Nine

The next Saturday Natasha invites us over to her house and we accept anxiously. It's a nice little townhouse in St Andrews Heights, close to the river though maybe a bit too close to the hospital. The inside is decorated in cherry woods and various shades of green, and Natasha asks us to take a seat in the living room where the walls are covered with photos. Most of them star Nate at various points in time, though there are a few with who I assume are Natasha's parents.

"Can I get you guys anything? Tea, coffee, hot chocolate? I have decaf everything."

"Coffee please," Eric requests.

"Black?" She guesses, correctly, and I hide my irritation at that to ask for some hot chocolate.

"Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" I ask and she points me down the hall and in the right direction. Emerging to take a seat beside Eric, I rub his thigh as soothingly as I can and try to reassure him wordlessly, and he gives me a little smile to kiss my hair. Natasha brings us our drinks a moment later, explaining that Nate is upstairs doing homework.

"They have homework in the first grade?"

"Colouring," she rolls her eyes. "He just takes it very seriously. Tells me I'm not to disturb him unless it's urgent." Beside me, Eric chuckles and Natasha scowls at him playfully. "Don't think I can't tell that's your genes talking."

"You'll thank me when he has a 4.0 in university."

"Oh god, don't say that, he just turned six."

"When is his birthday?"

"January 4th. I think he should be done by now, so I'm going to go get him. Sookie, help yourself to the marshmallows," she gestures at the little bowl. "I never know how many to put in." With that, she heads upstairs and leaves the two of us alone again. I toss in a few marshmallows while Eric takes a sip of his coffee, and we both freeze at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Nate is walking ahead of his mom but stops a little distance away from us.

"I'm going to be in my room, okay?" Natasha tells him quietly and he nods, so she gives us a smile before heading down the same hallway as the bathroom. No longer with Natasha to act as a buffer, we are left to take in the other party. Nate's a good-looking kid; I recognize my husband's eyes in him even though they're in Natasha's shade of green, and his hair is exactly as the photos suggested. Actually, he looks a lot like the Northman family photos I saw at Christmas, which is yet another obvious sign of his parentage. Slowly, Eric moves to crouch in front of his son.

"Hi Nate, I'm Eric. It's nice to finally meet you." He holds out his hand and after an initial moment of hesitation, Nate shakes it.

"Nice to meet you too." Eric looks like he doesn't quite know what to say which is fine since Nate's eyes move to take me in.

"Hi," I smile. "I'm Susannah, but everyone calls me Sookie. I'm Eric's wife."

"You're very pretty," he tells me, eliciting a low chuckle from Eric.

"Well, thank you. You're very handsome yourself." He smiles at the compliment and goes to take a seat across from us when Eric rejoins me.

"Mom says you're my dad."

"I am."

"Were you my mom's husband before?"

"I used to be, yes."

"Why aren't you anymore?"

Well, shit. I don't know how Eric's going to handle this. "Well, have you ever seen any fairytale movies?"

"My friend Zach's sister made us watch 'Beauty and The Beast' when she was babysitting us." His little nose wrinkles in distaste.

"You know how the beast had to find his one true love?" He nods. "Well I wasn't your mom's one true love."

"Why not?" Nate frowns.

"Because your mom is someone else's princess. You can't be with someone else's princess; you have to let them go so they can find their own one true love. Do you see what I mean?"

"Yeah. Is Sookie your princess?"

"Yeah, she is," my husband responds without even looking at me, and I melt.

"Alright." Nate puts in a fistful of marshmallows into the extra hot chocolate his mom brought him. "So what do you do?"

"I'm a detective."

His eyes light right up. "Like on TV?"

It's nothing like on TV. "Just like on TV," chuckles Eric.

"That's so cool! Do you catch bad guys?"

"I do. Is that what you want to do when you grow up?"

Nate nods, rather vehemently. "I was a policeman for Halloween."

"You'd be a good cop," Eric smiles, and his son – I'm surprised at the way that sounds – grins back.

"Are you having a baby soon?" He asks me.

"In two and a half months," I nod. "A little boy. He can be your little brother if you want."

His little face falls, to my surprise. "Can he still be my little brother if you're not my mom?"

"Sure! He'll be your half-brother, but you can still play with him and teach him new things, just like big brothers do."

That does the trick and I relax as Nate's face lights right up. "I can do that."

"Good. We can use your help."

The three of us talk until Natasha emerges, cautiously peeking out into the living room to make sure all is well. By that point Nate's sitting on the couch with us, and animatedly telling us about school and his friends, going so far as to invite Eric and I to watch him play soccer this summer. He's a really bright kid, and hilarious to boot. The more time we spend with him the more it becomes obvious that he's Eric's son, and I watch Eric try to conceal his happiness when Nate calls him Dad.

"Is it okay if I call you my dad?" He asks, suddenly worried.

"Of course, if you want to."

"What would I call you?" He turns to me.

"You can call me Aunt Sookie, or just Sookie if you want. What do you think?"

"I think I want to call you Sookie."

"Sounds good to me," I smile.

It's almost dinnertime by the time we leave, despite Natasha's half-hearted suggestion that we stay for dinner. Eric tells Nate that he can call us whenever he wants to, which make him grin, and we leave with similar smiles on our face.

Over the following month we see quite a bit of Nate. He and Eric go on a couple of man dates to hockey games and such, and we invite Natasha over for dinner one night just so she can see where her son will inevitably be spending some time without her. It goes well, if a little bit awkward once Natasha notices the collection of framed book covers Pam has been adding to since my first publication, and realizes that I'm _the_ Susannah Stackhouse. Eric hides his chuckle and I try to not convey my discomfort at the look of awe in her eyes. I know she'd been wondering how we got to have such a nice house in such an expensive part of town, but now she's taking everything in with the new eyes of someone who has suddenly realized just how loaded the hostess really is. And I am, so loaded, not that I do anything except save it up and donate to a fair number of charities. Eric of course can't even help himself and jokes that he married me for the money; a joke that I'm glad goes right over Nate's head. He's more than happy to be distracted by the huge movie collection we have and to dig into the New York style cheesecake we're having for dinner. The rest of the evening is rather uneventful, for which I am more than thankful.

I discover, as I have a minor breakdown one afternoon, that the idea of my husband having a child of his own had not quite sunk in all the way. I cast about for something to do for a couple of hours before realizing that I need someone else to talk me down. I end up calling Adrian because I know he works half-days on Fridays, and he comes over after work with a large pizza.

"Not that I mind, but why won't you talk to your idiot husband about this?" He asks as I get us plates and he gets the iced tea out of the fridge. 'Idiot' has become Adrian's nickname for Eric ever since he found out about Nate.

"Be nice," I sigh, taking a bite out of the largest slice and moaning at the heavenly taste.

"Sorry." He sits cross-legged on the couch and it hits me, that Adrian's a bit like my gay bestie, minus the gay bit, obviously. "So, spill."

"I feel like the second wife." The need to clarify becomes obvious when he quirks a brow, so I continue. "Like, I'm a runner-up. I don't know. He's the only person I've ever wanted this life with, but he can't say the same about me and I'm okay with that, after all this time. I've spent so long trying to carve out a completely different life for the two of us because I didn't want there to be any similarities between Natasha and I, and I always try to think of the things I have over her, you know, which – before now – was that I'm having his child and she didn't." Even I realize that I may not be making too much sense, but I struggle on. "I thought, hey, she was his first wife but I'm giving him his first child, and now it turns out I'm not. It won't even be his first son, which just emphasizes the second wife thing and it makes me feel so fucking insecure, Ace. Like I've got nothing to offer him because he's had it all, you know? He is the only guy I've ever loved, the only guy I plan on ever being married to, and the only guy I ever want fathering my children, but Natasha has beat me to it all when it comes to Eric." My own words sink in and I groan and hide my face in my hands. Mother-fucking pregnancy brain, making me all hormonal and insecure. "I'm sorry, Ace."

"Don't apologize." My brother-in-law puts an arm around me. "Sookie, you're not the second wife. Well, technically you are but not in any way that really matters. Eric married Natasha because for the first time since our parents died, he felt happy. I mean, I tried to protect him and not involve him in the shit but it was hard when I was knee-deep in it, and Natasha was new. Uncomplicated. He loved how he felt with her, and she was imperfect enough that he thought it was real, that it would work. He married _you_ because you're perfect for him, because he's been crazy about you in a way he never was about Natasha. I could see it from the first time I saw the two of you together, but I could tell even before that because of how he changed. I love my brother but he didn't know how to be happy until you came along; you were different from the very beginning. Chronologically, yeah, you're not the first but nobody can refute that you're his wife, so you can't think of it like that. You're his girl, Sookie. _You_ made him better."

888

On Valentine's Day Eric wakes me up with breakfast in bed: his signature Nutella-smeared, fruit-stuffed crepe. It's incredibly sweet of him since neither one of us is big on Valentine's Day, though I'm disappointed that we don't have time to start the day off with a bang – pun oh so very much intended. After work, my husband makes chicken parmigiana and a pretty incredible first attempt at baking a molten chocolate lava cake.

I moan with very little dignity at the first bite. "Oh my god, Eric, this is amazing! Where did you learn to do this?" He doesn't even know how to bake. As far as I know, the most baking he has done is popping Pillsbury dough into the oven.

"I can't reveal my sources," he jokes despite eying me rather lustily, because of the moaning. I'm pretty sure he's half hard by the time I'm done dessert so we quickly clean up and head upstairs, my hand clasped in his. I've wanted him since this morning so it doesn't take long before I'm begging him to take off his clothes and get as close to being on top of me as he can manage. A minute later I'm on all fours, my belly supported by some pillows as Eric kneels and thrusts into me until I'm crying out and on the verge of an amazing orgasm. I don't want it to end just yet though, so we quickly reposition ourselves so that he's spooning me, my leg resting on top of his as he enters me with slower, though more shallow, thrusts.

"Sookie," he whispers gruffly, kissing my neck as his hand slips between my legs to help me along. There are no words for me to describe how much of a turn-on it is when he says my name like that, and it doesn't take long for me to get right back on the edge of climax. I cry out when I come and feel Eric do the same a moment later, his voice muffled against my shoulder as he jerks and his hold on me tightens.

"That was really great," I tell him once we've calmed down. "The whole day was really great, thank you."

"You're welcome," he murmurs, and I can see he's just about to fall asleep.

"I love you."

My husband opens one eye to grin at me. "I love you too. Two more months, huh?" Even as he speaks his hand is on my stomach, stroking my bump. Finn had done a little happy dance when I came, which I'd found disconcerting the first time but now it makes sense even though it's not something I want to associate with my child.

"Yeah. It feels like forever though." We've even had the nursery ready for ages. It looks really pretty with its yellow paint and forest-themed wall decals that I found online. It's gorgeous and sunny, and I can't wait to put a baby in it.

"I know." Eric leans over me to press a kiss into my stomach. "Don't worry, it'll happen soon enough. You're almost done."

888

As disappointing as it is, I have to admit that sex just won't be happening for the last month of my pregnancy. My mood swings are so rapid and unpredictable that I can barely tolerate myself, and I spend quite a lot of time trying to take deep breaths to calm myself down. Eric tries not to look disappointed when I cut him off, which I appreciate because it's hard enough since I'm worried it'll make us drift apart.

"Why would you say that?" Eric frowns and puts an arm around me on the couch. We'd been watching the Harry Potter movies.

"I don't know, because it was 'us' time and I'm afraid it'll affect how we are. Especially because we're going to have to be full-time parents for the next several months and I just don't want us to lose sight of what's important."

"We won't. It'd be pretty hard to forget what led to us having a baby in the first place, don't you think?"

"I just want to make sure. Even if we barely have the time or if we're too exhausted to even acknowledge each other, I need to know that on the other side of the next however-many sleepless months, we'll still have a functioning relationship."

Eric presses a lingering kiss into my forehead and pulls back to smile at me. "We'll be fine. Not having sex won't be the end of us, and we'll wait however long it takes for you to be comfortable. As for being too busy with the baby, I guess we'll just have to keep communicating to make sure we're on the same page. Okay?"

I nod, offering him a smile. "Sounds good."

"Good. Let's just cuddle." He says that with the air of a nervous teenage girl, and I can't help giggling as I lean into his body. Truth is, I'm beyond exhausted at this point. The pregnancy thing had been amazing until I stopped being able to get a good night's sleep, and now I just want him out. I want to meet this person who presses against my bladder and kicks my ribs, and I want to not feel like a beached whale all the time because as amazing as Eric has been, my vanity is being stretched to its very limits. I miss my designer jeans so badly, and it's becoming disheartening to walk outside with Eric when he looks the way he does and I'm dressing for two. A couple of weeks ago I'd asked him if he could just gain thirty pounds, to make me feel better about myself.

"But then _you_ won't want to jump _me_, min älskade," he'd told me with a kiss.

"I doubt that," I'd huffed, and he had proceeded to prove to me that _he_ still wanted to jump _me_.

"You're so beautiful, Sookie," he tells me now, kissing my ear and my cheek while on the screen, Harry tries to fight off a dragon.

"Hmm, shut up, Älskare." His lips move down to my neck and I giggle as he tickles me.

"Don't tell me to shut up. Are you calling me a liar?" His eyes twinkle.

"Would I do that?" I smile

"I think you just did. But it doesn't matter, you can think what you want because I'll still think you're beautiful."

I giggle again as I pull away. "Love you."

"Love you too."

888

My water breaks three days before my due date on a Saturday. Fresh from the shower, I almost don't notice the puddle on the floor until I realize that my feet are damp. I call for Eric and put on the first clothes I can lay my hands on and a pair of sandals while my husband grabs my pre-packed bag and his own crap. At the hospital, I'm quickly admitted and situated in my room, and so begin the longest twenty hours of my life. I'll admit that based on the way I treat him over the course of my labour, an outsider would think my marriage abusive and terribly caustic. Eric seems to understand, which is a relief considering I have much larger fish to fry as I'm finally dilated enough to start pushing the newest member of our family out of my body. And as clichéd as it may be, the pain is all forgotten when they put him on my chest and I burst into tears of happiness, scaring Eric while the nurses and doctors just smile knowingly. My son gets taken away, to be cleaned up and checked out while we anxiously await his return and I deliver the afterbirth, a process only made tolerable because I'm really not paying too much attention. I spend the next several hours in a bit of a haze, only awakening to feed Finn or eat something myself. I'm so tired and quite sore and uncomfortable, all of which the nurse tells me will pass. It's almost eight AM when I finally open my eyes and find I'm not fighting the urge to fall right back asleep, so I carefully sit up and look around, finding my husband in the armchair in the corner with Finn in his arms.

"How is he?"

"Amazing," Eric responds and carefully moves him into my arms, joining me on the bed. Finn's doing that adorable thing babies do where they move in jerks, like every move of their own limbs surprises them, and he stares at me with his huge grey eyes and grabs my finger. "How are _you_?" Eric asks.

"Still exhausted," I say, my eyes glued to my baby. He's so beautiful with his crazy blonde hair and tiny baby nose, and his daddy's full lips which are actually pressed against my temple right now.

"You were so incredible," he tells me, his voice full of awe, and I look up to smile at him. "I love you both so much."

"I think I speak for us both when I say we love you too, Mr Northman." We kiss and Eric nuzzles my nose adorably, kissing the tip before we go back to staring at our baby.

"I made some calls just before you woke up."

"Yeah? Who'd you call?"

"Adrian and Tara, and Jason since it's not that early for them. Adrian and Tara are coming by to visit later, and I think I'll wait a little while before calling Natasha and Pam." I give him a little look and he gently adds, "Nate should be here. I don't care about Natasha but Nate should meet his brother." I get that; Nate had progressively grown more and more excited at the prospect of having a brother and I have no intentions of robbing him of that.

"Yeah, I don't know why I reacted like that. Blame it on crazy post-labour brain." I offer him an apologetic smile and he murmurs a thank you and kisses my cheek, and when Finn makes a tiny little sound Eric kisses him too. A few hours later after our friends and family have already come by, I fully embrace my vanity and do my best to look decent, waddling back under the covers just in time for Natasha to peek in.

"Hey, come on in," Eric smiles, inviting her in, and I'm a little pleased to see she's looking rather uncomfortable, watching Eric fawn over me and our baby. I wonder if she wishes he'd been there for her too; there is no doubt in my mind that he would have come around if she'd told him sooner. He would have been there for her maybe not as her husband, but as the father of her child. I thank Natasha for the flowers she's brought and she politely asks me how I'm doing, imparting some of her own post-labour stories, and we I watch as Eric gets Nate situated on the armchair so he can hold Finn, even if he is nervous.

"He's so little," Nate muses and laughs when Finn swings at his brother's nose and misses, satisfying himself by clutching Nate's Iron Man t-shirt.

"You were that little once," Natasha smiles and I see a flash of unhappiness on Eric's face, since he obviously wasn't there to witness that. I stamp down my irritation at Natasha for her lack of tact; Eric blames himself enough for not having been there for the first six years of Nate's life, he doesn't need reminders. Eventually Finn starts fussing and Nate panics, handing the baby over to his Dad who actually quite calmly handles the situation.

"He's probably just hungry," I reach out and Eric brings him to me. "Are you, baby? Yeah?" His little chin quivers and he makes an unhappy sound, to which I pout in response. Natasha and Nate decide to leave not long after, the former giving my husband a hug while the latter hops up on the bed to give Finn a kiss on the head, hesitating for a second before giving me a kiss on the cheek as well. The gesture completely dissolves any irritation I felt over Natasha's actions and replaces it with the warm fuzzies.

"Aw, thanks, honey." I return the favour, which earns me a goofy grin from Nate and a wink from Eric before he himself hugs his son goodbye. We thank them both and few hours later finally get the okay to go home.  
>"All good, Mrs Northman?" Eric asks once I've gingerly settled myself into the backseat next to our sleeping son.<p>

_Our son_. It sounds phenomenal to even think.  
>I blow him a kiss in the rearview mirror. "Take us home, Mr Northman."<p>

It's strange, yet absolutely perfect, having the baby at home. All of a sudden there's a whole other person we have to fit into our routine, though on second thought the joke is on us because it has rapidly become clear whose schedule is built around whom. By nine we're both exhausted so I feed the baby and tuck him into his little crib before we get under the covers ourselves.

"Eriiiiiiiiic," I whine softly and Eric rolls over.

"Yes, dearest?" The corner of his mouth quirks upwards. We have to whisper to avoid waking up the baby.

"I don't like when she touches you," I pout. "I know it's childish."

I'm grateful that he doesn't ask me who I'm talking about. "It _is_ childish," he agrees, stroking my cheek with a finger. "I don't particularly enjoy it either but I'm civil to her-"

"Because of Nate," I finish for him with a nod. "Look, I'm okay with you having a son; it was a shock to both of us and I think we're both doing pretty well. I'm doing the best I can even though I can't help feeling robbed, you know?" His brows furrow slightly, inquisitively, so I continue. "I was supposed to be the mother of your children, I was supposed to give you kids, but now I have to share the title with her because she beat me to it. She beat me to _you_." I pause long enough to take a deep breath, "I know I'm being silly, okay? I know she doesn't mean anything to you anymore but it doesn't make me feel any better about it when she touches you, or calls you to meet up for coffee, or gets you to stay for dinner when you drop off Nate." Because those have all happened over the past few months, much to my discomfort. Not that I distrust Eric but no matter how convincing Adrian had been over our talk a few weeks ago, Natasha pushes buttons I did not even know I had.

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, my husband flicks on the bedside light and sits up to regard me. "So, what, you're worried I'm going to dump you for Natasha?"

"No, Eric," I sit up as well. Jesus, this is not it at all.

"Then you're afraid I'm going to fuck her because spending time with her makes me nostalgic. Is that it?"

"That's not it at all, Baby. I wasn't-"

"You know what spending time with her makes me?" I shake my head, shamed out of my wits. "Grateful, that we got a divorce. Grateful that I married _you _and that you're the one I share a bed with. Natasha, she's a good mother to Nate, but most of the time she makes me want to bang my head against a wall."

I hesitate but can't help asking, "Why?"

"She's a controlling bitch. She's condescending and patronizing, and she's constantly trying to prove to me that she knows me better than I know myself. It's fucking annoying. Oh, and not to mention the fact that she _broke my heart_, Sookie. She kept me from Nate, and I'm only just realizing all the things I've missed out on." I cut my eyes towards the baby, worried that we might be waking him up, but he's still snoozing away. "I have all those reasons to look at you like you hung the fucking moon but Sookie, you shouldn't have needed to have heard any of them to trust me on this." Giving me a last dirty look, Eric rolls onto his side, shutting me down and out. I roll away too, my eyes wide in the darkness as I wallow in the guilt and sadness. He's right; we've been together for over three years now, as of the beginning of March, and not once has he ever given me a single reason to doubt him. He's never been the type to do anything that'd make me at all insecure in any way, and this Natasha business has been as much of an adjustment for him as it was for me. More for him, probably, because he has had to jump into the ready-made role of parent for one child while we'd been preparing for a child of our own. He has been holding down two forts simultaneously, dealing my insane pregnancy neuroses as well as the rather delicate situation with his ex and child.

And I had to go and basically accuse him of being unfaithful, because it doesn't matter what I say about my insecurities having no factual basis; they still hurt him.

I can be such a bitch sometimes, I reflect and suddenly realize that I'm crying. And then, so is Finn.  
>A glance at the clock tells me it has been almost three hours of me wallowing in misery and crying silently, and I haul myself out of bed to pick my baby up and feed him. Once he's burped and I've checked his diaper I put him back and use the bathroom before crawling back into bed to find Eric is awake. I hesitate, perhaps anticipating some harsh words or more rejection, but he just rolls onto his stomach and makes himself comfortable. I bite back more tears and get into bed, falling asleep only to awaken a couple of hours later to change Finn's diaper. The next morning Eric is in the shower by the time I get up and I opt for using the guest bathroom, continuing this game of aversion we seem to be playing. My whole body is sore from the strain of labour and I groan as I do the simplest stretches, staring at myself in the mirror. I grimace at my stomach but brush it off with a sigh, figuring that it'll go away eventually. Back in our bedroom the baby is awake, eyes wide and curious as he looks around, and I'm once again taken aback at how obviously <em>ours<em> he is, especially since his eyes appear blue today.

"Look at you, with your Daddy's eyes," I coo and lift him up into my arms. In the nursery I change his diaper and get a fresh onesie out of a drawer, the "My Daddy Can Arrest Your Daddy" one Eric bought last year. I chatter the whole way down the stairs, asking him if he slept well and whether he can wait until I've eaten until he gets his on breakfast. He appears content enough to just settle in his highchair and continue the gaping, and I grin as I set to making grilled cheese. Eric comes down a little while later and kisses Finn hello while I try to hide my amusement at seeing this big man make baby noises, even though I'm still upset about our fight. I plate the food and top it all off with some fresh fruit, sliding it across the kitchen island.

"Would you like some tea?" I ask quietly, not meeting his gaze until he sets Finn back down into his high chair to come up behind me. My husband wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my hair.

"Good morning."

"Good morning," I respond, a bit unsure as to what is going on.

"I'm sorry I made you cry. And I'm sorry I didn't get up to help with Finn."

"It's okay." Turning around, I stretch up on my toes to wrap my arms around his shoulders and he lifts me up onto the counter. "I do trust you, Eric. I'm just insecure." Hesitating, I add, "Natasha makes me insecure." Wordlessly, he reaches for my left hand and slips off my wedding ring, holding it up for me to see the words etched on the inside.

"She's got nothing on you," he tells me and then cracks a smile. "You should know better."

"I did, when she wasn't an active participant in our lives." His eyes flick over the Finn, over my shoulder, and I twist to see our son doing what newborn babies excel at: very little.

"I don't know what to say to ease your fears. I would do anything if I knew it would make you believe me, and it sucks that you feel this way now of all times, when we have a newborn baby."

I nod. "Like I said, I'm just insecure. I'll get over it."

He nods. "I'm in love with you. If I wanted someone else, this is not where I would be."

"I know that." I rest my forehead against his shoulder and he kisses my hair before putting me down. I move to get back to the stove but he shakes his head nudging me towards the plate of breakfast.

"Eat. I'll cook for myself."

"But I was going to make you breakfast," I pout and he bends down to kiss me, taking my breath away in the process.

"It's the thought that counts."

888

The following weeks are spent getting used to the new and improved version of our lives. Natasha and Nate come by a couple of times, since it had been a point we all agreed on; that Nate be as big of a presence in Finn's life as we can manage it. At the same time Eric makes a point of not venturing anywhere close to toying with my insecurities, which is a fantastic reminder of how amazing he is at handling me, and how well he knows me.  
>Finn is… indescribable. It feels like he's somehow the amalgamation of everything I've ever achieved in my life, every trivial choice, every career move, every path I took to get here today; the most precious achievement being the man I call my husband. My vocabulary quickly shrinks down to a whole lot of made-up words that mean nothing but pass for English in the presence of my son, and some of these terms actually manage to worm themselves into the conversations I have with Eric. At one point, as I inform Eric of our son's attachment to his "boo-boo", I have to stop myself and take a closer look at this rather alarming development. My husband laughs and warns me about the potential impact of this on my writing career, which earns him a punch to the bicep.<p>

"I'm sure I'll get my vocabulary back…" I sigh. "When he's eighteen."

"Oh, don't say that!" Eric laughs and puts an arm around me. The following week I go for my six-week post-partum appointment with the doctor. I've already stopped bleeding for a few days at this point, which means that I'm physically healed and ready for sex if I want it. I think on it for a little while because I'm not quite sure how I feel about it; we've made a point of setting some time aside every night just to be together, 'being intimate without sex' as our birthing class called it. Eric has always been quite affectionate physically, when we're alone at least, though it's nice to have a set time every night where we just snuggle and talk about whatever we want. He tends to let his hands roam as we lie awake, leisurely over my back and down my limbs, smoothing back my hair and kissing whatever bit of skin pleases him. So yes, he has been rather wonderful but I'm afraid of how he feels about sex, uncertain about whether or not he's even attracted to me anymore after witnessing the rather gory process of giving birth. Regardless, my hope leads me to make a couple of essential purchases at the drug mart on my way home, where I tuck everything into my bedside drawer. Eric leaves work early these days so he's home and letting himself in before five, and I grin when he walks in. There are no words for me to describe how it feels that his face lights up when he sees me and I run at him, jumping up and letting him catch me with a loud laugh.

"Hey you," I giggle and press a kiss into his mouth.

"Hello, gorgeous." He smiles. "What's going on?"

"Nothin'. Just happy to see you," I flirt and hop down. "Come on, Finn's napping and I made turkey burgers." As we eat I try to check him out as discreetly as possible, wondering if he still feels the same way about me because I definitely still find him attractive.

"You're staring." Eric quirks a brow once we're done and he gets up to help clean up. "How was your appointment? Is everything okay?"

"Everything is all fine and dandy. I'm uh… I got the go-ahead for sex." I watch his expression carefully as he looks at me with quite a lot of interest.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Physically, I'm all good."

"And psychologically?" He asks, looking down at me as I rinse off the dishes and hand them to him to put in the dishwasher.

"I don't know. I guess I'm just… concerned? I'm kind of wondering how you feel. About having sex. With me."

"Well, those were some pretty crucial qualifiers, thanks for clarifying," my husband teases and I scoff at him. "You know how I feel about it."

"I don't, actually," I chuckle. "I mean, I get that it's a bit… shocking, to watch someone give birth. And I know that I've physically been a bit of a mess, with the weight gain and the bleeding and the stretching." I wince. It had definitely not been anything like movies will have you believe.

"I miss having sex with you, Sookie," he says, leaning back against the counter. "Not just because I enjoy sex and it's been like, three months, but because I miss having that kind of fun with you." We did have fun, this is true. The snuggling has been great, but I miss having him know my body like nobody else does. I can't help smiling as he continues. "But I'd like for you to be comfortable and sure about it, and I don't know if you are. I'll wait, however long it takes. But I'm not put off or freaked out by you giving birth. I sure as hell don't care that you've gained weight because your weight was obviously not why I fell in love with you."

"I'm just insecure." Fuck, what else is new. "And I guess I've been worried about how you feel about things because you haven't really said anything, or tried to instigate anything, even though I know how much you like sex."

"Of course I like sex. You're my wife, of course I want to fuck you, but I wasn't about to push for sex until you told me you were ready."

"But?"

"I want _you_ to want it. I wouldn't want to hurt you or rob you of sleep and energy when you're so low on both."

"I do want it. I miss you." I'm actually quite sad about this, missing him even though he's been with me the whole time. I guess the look I give him conveys my sadness because he pulls me close, slipping his arms around my waist.

"I'm right here, and I'm yours, okay? You just have to say the word and as soon as Finn gives us like, two and a half minutes, it's on."

"Two and a half whole minutes?" I smile at his attempt at humour.

"Three minutes, tops. I've been celibate for far too long."

"Sorry," I grimace.

"I was joking!" He laughs and kisses my head. "I love you so much, Mrs Northman."

"I love you too." I make a happy sound when he presses his lips to mine and deepens the kiss, and we end up just making out standing in the kitchen until Finn starts making some noise over the baby monitor and we break apart.

888

"Oh god, do that again," I moan, arching my pelvis into Eric's mouth and he flicks my clit with his tongue again. "Fuck, baby, I'm close. Please…" Crying out softly when his fingers plunge into me, I come with a jerk, muttering out an incoherent stream of words that include my husband's name. As I recover, Eric slides on a condom and applies some lube, eying me carefully as he moves to hold himself above my body.

"You okay?"

I nod vehemently. "I want you."

"I'm afraid of hurting you." His voice is tinged with uncertainty.

"I promise to tell you if anything doesn't feel good. Now, get your ass over here and fuck me." He'll have to forgive me my curt tone, but I'm quite certain I've never wanted anyone as much as I want him right now.

"I love you," he murmurs and pushes in a little bit, testing the waters. I moan and he takes it the wrong way so I have to convince him that I'm really quite okay. More than okay, so he pushes in further and I make a louder noise.

"You feel so good."

"Feel fucking amazing," he groans and thrusts, bringing his mouth to bite lightly at my neck. I come with his thumb on my clit half a second after he does, both of us crying out in a mix of pleasure and relief at having finally gotten past this huge sex obstacle. Eric disposes of the condom and brings a washcloth to clean me up, which I've always found incredibly sweet. He throws himself onto the mattress beside me and I climb on top of him, tucking my face against his neck and teasing his earlobe with one hand.

"You're the best thing that has ever happened to me," Eric murmurs, one hand stroking my back while the other rests on my ass. My hand moves from his ear to slip into his hair, and I press a trail of kisses into his neck and jaw.

"I love you too. I'm glad we're, you know."

"Me too."

"Do I look different?" I ask quietly and he moves his head to regard me with a raised brow. "You know, down there?"

"A little."

"In a bad way?"

He shakes his head. "Never a bad way. I think you're perfect."

"Awww. No, you."

"I am not playing this game with you," he laughs.

"You always ruin all my fun," I smile and press a kiss into his chest. His gorgeous, gorgeous chest.

"So, Finn is still asleep. Round two?"

"You're on, Detective."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Here it is! This is the last chapter of _Chasing Cars_, though if I'm being honest I already have some ideas a-brewin' for a possible sequel, and of course there is another story in the making. You have all been so wonderful with your kind words and lovely reviews, and god knows I couldn't have done it without you.

Any last words are very much appreciated, and until next time, take care =]

* * *

><p>Don't you worry there, my honey,<p>

We might not have any money,

But we've got our love to pay the bills.

"You & I", Ingrid Michaelson

Chapter 9

**Five Years Later…**

Twining is there when I get to room 1258, and he rises when he sees me approaching.

"What happened?"

"We were in a stand-off and Eric was trying to talk the guy down, but Newbie got trigger-happy and fired. The guy fired right back. He went down like a rock."

"Is he in there?" The door is closed.

"The doctor just went in. They already stitched him up and everything. He was awake the whole time."

"Okay, thanks, Charlie." I don't know what the protocol is here, but I'm not going to wait outside. He's my husband for Christ's sakes, so I knock and peek in with a 'hello'.

"Yes?" The doctor looks up from the wound in my husband's thigh.

"Dr Winters, this is my wife," Eric provides as I step in to move to his bedside. I feel – or rather hope – that it looks worse than it is because it looks quite bad, even though it's not a huge wound. Eric's quite pale though, and less significantly his hair is a mess so I finger-comb it back from his face as I turn to the doctor.

"Is he okay?" I ask as Dr Winters begins covering him back up.

"He's fine. It'll take him a few months to fully recover and he'll need some physiotherapy, but the bullet didn't hit anything major. Nurse Joan here can bandage you back up." He shoots a smile over to the nurse.

"When can I go home, doc?"

"Tomorrow, if you promise to stay off it, sergeant." The doctor gives him a knowing look.

"Oh he will," I say rather ominously, eliciting laughter from all three of them.

"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon before you go home." The doctor gives us a nod in acknowledgement and we thank him before he heads out. Nurse Joan immediately begins cleaning his wound with some saline and covers it up with a square pad, cutting out some fancy adhesive strips to keep it on. The wound itself is bright and irritated from having recently been stitched up and Eric hisses when the nurse carefully wipes away some dried blood. It's also just a bit too close to the jewels for the nurse to be so touchy.

"Are you okay?" I ask him quietly, still stroking his hair with the hand not holding his.

"It hurts like a bitch," he chuckles rather humourlessly.

"I imagine it would," I grimace.

"At least the bastard was a terrible shot."

Nurse Joan pats his knee once she's done. "You're good to go. Stay off of it, okay? We'll get you some crutches tomorrow."

"Thank you, Joan."

"You're very welcome. Press the Call button if you decide to stop being a hero and I'll bring you some pain meds, alright?"

"Will do." The smile he offers her makes her blush and I roll my eyes once she's gone.

"Hittin' on the nurse right in front of me," I mutter and bend down to kiss him just as Twining steps back in.

"Hey man. What did the doc say?" My husband gives his friend a quick rundown and Twining nods. "You're good here? Do either of you need anything?"

"I'm good, thanks for staying. Do you need anything?" Eric asks me.

"No, I'm good too. Thanks Charlie."

"No problem. Call me if you change your mind, yeah?"

Once he's gone, I perch on the edge of the bed and cover Eric up with the blanket, not meeting his gaze until he stops my hand from its nervous fluttering. I've been doing such a good job of acting like I'm okay but now the depth of the situation is finally hitting me.

"Come here," he tells me quietly and I shake my head because my chin has started to quiver. "Hey, come here," he insists, tugging me down and I finally go with it, laying myself down to rest my head on his chest. "What is it? Did I scare you?"

"Yeah." The word breaks on a sob and I turn my face into his chest as tears fall.

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm okay." His arm tightens around me and he kisses my hair, stroking the arm I've laid across his abdomen.

"It was like my worst nightmare come true. I kept waiting to wake up when Charlie called to tell me you were in the hospital." I take my arm back to cover my face with my hand and wipe the tears that have already left a wet spot on Eric's chest.

"Shit." He had clearly not thought about that, but now I know he's remembering the conversation we had before Finn was born.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me." That's a lie, I know exactly what's wrong. Sitting upright, I wipe hastily at my face and sniffle, feeling bad that I'm having a breakdown when he's hurt and in pain.

"It's okay." My husband rubs at my back in an attempt at soothing me, and smiles when I meet his eyes again.

"What's going to happen to Chow?"

"Nothing major, since he's a newbie and it's not like he personally got me shot. The captain will make him cry and I'll drown him in paperwork for a couple of months, and we'll all get over it."

That gets him a laugh and I bend down to kiss him, my hand rubbing his chest. "I'm really glad you're okay."

"Me too." My husband smiles at me. "Who's picking Finn up?"

"Tara. She's bringing him here." I check my watch; but she won't be here for another couple of hours. "But uhm, I guess this would be a good time for us to talk."

"What's going on?"

I might as well just blurt it out. "I'm pregnant."

"Seriously?" He grins so widely that I can see he has no wisdom teeth. We'd been trying for almost a year, which had been a head-trip in itself since I accidentally got pregnant twice in one year, five years ago. Gingerly sitting up, Eric pulls me forward for a toe-curling kiss that has me thinking of several other disadvantages his injury presents.

"You make me so happy."

I can't help grinning into his mouth. "I do try." The smile doesn't last long though, because my husband getting shot the day I find out I'm pregnant is just another reminder of how hazardous his job is. He's forty-one now – as of last week – and I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to handle the stress. I just want him to do something low-hazard, like manning the cash register at a diner, or the drive-through at Starbucks. Something that doesn't give me anxiety. Or maybe he can just work from home, like I do, I think to myself with an internal chuckle. He could be my very own personal bubble boy.

"I booked an appointment for next week to confirm," I tell him.

"I hope it's a girl. Not that the boys aren't great, but really, statistically it's time for me to make a girl."

"Well, I'm sure if it's a boy we can cause some pretty deep psychological issues by raising it as a girl, so that's worth a try."

"Sound legitimate," my husband deadpans and we both crack up. We end up calling Natasha a while later to let her know about Eric's hospitalization, but make sure to emphasize that he's okay. Nate will no doubt be worried though, so she asks if they can visit us tomorrow once we're home. Adrian is next, and Eric has to spend a fair bit of time promising his older brother that he's okay, he'll be fine, it's not a big deal, really. Adrian still insists on visiting later tonight, perhaps whenever I have to take Finn home for the night. That's something I'm not too comfortable doing; leaving Eric here while I go home to sleep alone in our bed but he promises me it'll be okay, continuously until I begrudgingly accept the inevitable. I tell Adrian we will probably be leaving around six, since I don't see Finn lasting more than a couple of hours here before he gets bored.

I'm curled up at Eric's side, dreamily discussing what it would be like to raise two kids when there's a light knock at the door.

"Oh, am I interrupting something?" I sit up, noting the hand Eric's resting on the small of my back, and invite in the young man at the door.

"Not at all, come on in."

"Hello, Mrs Northman. I'm Chow, it's very nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." He looks awfully young, and awfully nervous right now, which is understandable considering he got my husband shot. He hands me the gorgeous bouquet of flowers he has brought and I thank him to place it on the bedside table.

"Sarge, I just wanted to apologize."

"I'll just step outside," I offer brightly but Eric grabs my hand.

"It's alright, you can stay." Chow looks like he'd much rather I wait outside, but I stay with my husband who adds, "There's a reason why we don't run in guns blazing, because chances are we can resolve the conflict without bullets. I know what it's like to have a gun in your hand when you're knee-deep in adrenaline, but you need to control yourself. You need to be on an adrenaline high and still be able to follow orders, you got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"You got lucky. I have a wife and two kids so technically we both got lucky. Don't test your luck again."

Chow nods, looking properly chastised. "Please let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Will do." I smile, hoping to alleviate some of his obvious discomfort. "Thank you for coming by." He nods, wishes Eric well and says good-bye.

"I was totally expecting you to be more harsh."

"He feels like shit, he doesn't need me to tell him that he fucked up." Eric shrugs.

"Hmm. So, you have two kids, eh?" I wink, lying back down.

"Do you want to wait to tell people?"

I consider that and nod, slowly. "I think so." I think the miscarriage is always going to weigh on my mind, and I already went through the months of terribly sympathetic condolences with my first pregnancy. "Until the second trimester."

"Thought you might say that. You know I'm here if you need to talk." His hand strokes up and down my back soothingly.

"I know you are. I'm okay, it's just the paranoid what-if."

"Gotcha. I can't wait until you're all pregnant." His hand slips to my stomach and then briefly up to cup my breast.

"Oh, for two particular reasons, huh?" I grin.

"Among others," my husband laughs. "You looked really beautiful when you were pregnant. Not that you don't always look beautiful," he corrects hastily. "But when you're pregnant-"

"It's a biological thing. I get it," I laugh.

Tara shows up at four with a very upset Finn who, despite no longer considering it cool to hold hands, still crawls up into Eric's arms and stays there for quite a while. My husband murmurs to him quietly and he nods into Eric's chest, looking a little relieved.

"What happened?" Tara asks quietly and I take her outside to tell her everything. "Jesus," she mutters afterwards. "Are _you_ okay?"

"No, not really. I'm also pregnant."

"Oh my god, Sookie, that's great! Congratulations!" She had been the only person to know we were trying.

"Shhhh," I laugh. "Finn doesn't know yet and we're not going to say anything for a while. Keep it on the down-low."

"Okay, okay, sorry. So did you tell him?"

"Yeah, he's really happy about it too."

"But?"

"I just don't know how it will be having him be a cop when we have two kids." I shake my head. "You know what, this is not the time for this. Don't worry about it, I'll figure it out."

"Of course you will." Tara smiles sympathetically and gives me a hug when I thank her for picking Finn up. "Anytime, hon. I should go though, I have to pick Jess up from dance."

"Alright, I'll see you later."

"Call me if you need anything." She gives my arm a squeeze before leaving and I go back inside to find my boys still snuggling.

"How was school?" I smile at my son, sitting at the foot of the bed.

"It was okay," he shrugs. "We coloured. Ms Acorn put them up on the wall." He's totally downplaying that because he definitely loves colouring. It's actually pretty cute, how dedicated he is to it. About as dedicated as Nate had been when we had first gotten to meet him. The two of them are actually pretty similar, in looks as well as demeanour, and Finn really adores Nate. Nate is pretty protective of him as well, and has always made a point of involving Finn in his plans, whatever they may be. They're inseparable the weekends Nate spends with us and it's all I can do to keep from awww-ing non-stop as Finn follows his older brother around and does his best to mimic him exactly. It's actually a huge blessing that Nate isn't a spoiled brat, but someone I'm okay with my son idolizing.

"That sounds fun," says Eric and Finn shrugs.

"Dad, when can we go home?"

"Well, you and mom can go home tonight but I have to stay here until tomorrow."

"Why?" His little brows furrow.

"So the doctors can keep an eye on me."

"Can I see your bullet wound?"

Eric looks at me, unsure. "Maybe later, Baby," I step in and, despite looking disappointed, Finn nods. By the time Adrian gets here Finn has had his fill of snuggling and is playing on my phone and trying his hardest to not ask me if we can go home for fear of hurting his daddy's feelings. Eric and I can practically see it in his eyes. Finn jumps up when Adrian walks in and the latter scoops him up to mess up his hair.

"How you doing, baby brother?"

Finn grins, completely entertained as always at the thought of his daddy being somebody's baby brother.

"Good enough to kick your… butt."

"Yeah, I somehow don't see that happening." Adrian rolls his eyes before focusing his energy to get me home. I would argue to stay but Finn is looking at me with interest.

"You ready to head home, kid?"

"Will Dad be alone?" He asks, looking concerned.

"Nope, your uncle's staying with me," Eric tells him and eventually manages to convince Finn that he'll see him tomorrow after school. While Finn gathers up his things I kiss my husband goodbye and promise him that I'll see him in the morning. He tries to tell me that I don't have to run back to the hospital but I tell him to shut up and kiss him a second time, ignoring Adrian and Finn as they chorus "ewww".

"Thanks for staying with him, you butt," I grumble to Adrian as he hugs me goodbye.

"You're very welcome, Sötnos. I'll see you guys later, huh?" Both brothers hug Finn goodbye and I take his hand as we walk out. He's not being very talkative, even though I decide to break a couple of rules by picking up Wendy's for dinner. He smiles and asks for a frosty too, pushing me to my fastfood-buying limits.

"Mom, is Dad going to be okay?" He asks once we're out of the drive-thru and I wish I weren't driving so I could really look at him and make sure he understands.

"Yeah, honey. He'll need some help getting around the house for a while, but he's going to be fine."

"You promise?"

"I pinky promise," I smile and hold out my pinky, and he hesitates for a second before wrapping his pinky around mine. I continue being the fun parent for the rest of the day, figuring that he deserves a little lax parenting after the trauma of seeing his usually strong dad in the hospital. It had been a little disconcerting for me too, if I'm being quite honest with myself, since he's usually so strong and has the tendency to take care of us, rather than the other way around. I don't even remember the last time Eric was sick or incapable of doing something so this is a bit of a jarring reality check that my husband, as good of a cop as he may be, is not anywhere near infallible.

I nudge Finn upstairs at around eight for his bath, and read him one chapter of the first _Harry Potter_ book before tucking him in. Downstairs, I pour myself a glass of not-wine and put on an old episode of _Supernatural,_ which is my guilty pleasure when the boys aren't around, before calling Adrian.

"What's up, sister-in-law?"

"Hey, I was just hoping for an Eric update."

"Well, he's right here, why don't you talk to him?"

"You're still there?"

"Yeah, I was going to leave but he started crying…" He bursts out laughing when Eric cusses and smacks him. "Threw a bit of a tantrum," Adrian continues. "It was all a bit pathetic."

"Can I talk to my husband please?" I ask, laughing.

"Sure, here ya go."

"Hello? You can't hit the cripple! _Adrian!_"

"What is he doing?"

"Being a jerk," Eric laughs. "But the nurse just told him off so he's pouting in the corner now."

"Sounds like you guys are having a lot of fun," I smile, sinking lower on the couch, and take a sip of my not-wine.

"You know how it is, you get shot and the fun begins."

"I know, I might shoot myself out of sheer jealousy."

"I can lend you my gun," he chuckles.

"You're a pal. So how are you doing?"

"I'm good. I gave in and let them give me some meds so the pain is better."

"Hey, that's good. Not being in pain tends to be a bonus."

"I certainly think so. And I can even put up with Adrian now." Adrian calls out a complaint from the background but Eric ignores him. "Is Finn in bed already?"

"Yeah, I bought him Wendy's and took him to the park, so that buttered him up."

"Quite literally," my husband laughs.

"He ran around a lot at the park though, so I feel less guilty."

"Well done. How are you feeling?"

"Good. Missing wine already. And missing you also."

"Miss you too," he murmurs, probably hoping to avoid getting mocked by his brother. "Jag älskar dig."

"I love you too," I grin.

"Adrian wants you to know that he speaks Swedish too, so you shouldn't be too impressed."

"Tell him I'm impressed by his ability to be such a huge jerk." Eric passes on my message and I can hear Adrian wishing for his phone to die on us. We end up saying goodnight not long after, and I finish my episode before crawling into bed.

The next day I get Eric home just before two, which is a bit earlier I had anticipated but fine regardless. We pick up his prescription for industrial-grade painkillers and an antibiotic on the way, and I chuckle at the disdainful he shoots the crutches when I hand them to him to walk the distance from the garage to the living room. Once inside he parks himself on the couch where I can keep an eye on him as I cook some chicken and veggies, which is when Natasha calls to see if she can bring Nate over after school.

"Yeah, of course. That should be fine," my husband shoots me a look and I give him a little nod before suggesting that Natasha and Nate stay for dinner. Eric relays my message, but the plan ends up being for Natasha to drop Nate off after school and pick him up around Finn's bedtime, since otherwise Finn will not be going to bed until Nate is gone and tomorrow is still a school day. I'm done cooking by the time Eric hangs up and I tell him to sit his ass back down when he tries to take his plate to the kitchen afterwards because, as I plan on reminding him often, he needs to stay off his feet. He grumbles something about not having lost the leg, which I ignore to bring him his pills and a glass of water. That of course instigates more grumbling over having to take the damn things because Eric has some unresolved issues with conventional medicine, but I tell him to man up and do as his wife tells him.

"I love it when you're bossy," he smirks and pulls me closer for a kiss, refusing to let me pull away.

"Eric." I break the kiss but his mouth moves down to my neck.

"We didn't get to celebrate you being pregnant." He presses an open-mouthed kiss below my ear and that's enough to turn me on, even though my brain is not on the same page as my body.

"You're hurt, how can you be thinking about sex?"

"Easily. Come on, you can be on top," he cajoles softly, trailing kisses back to my mouth, his hand dropping to rest at the inside of my thigh. I know he loves that he knocked me up – it's some masculine, virility thing to him – so it's really not that surprising that he wants to celebrate by having more sex. Not that having sex with Eric is a chore in any way.

"I'm afraid of hurting you."

"I'll tell you if you are." My husband tucks his fingers under my shirt and pulls it off and a couple of minutes later he's naked on the couch as I straddle him.

"Is this okay?"

"Yeah."

I carefully lower myself onto him, watching his face carefully for any signs of pain. We have to stop once when he moves his leg a certain way and gasps in pain, but he insists he's fine and I hesitantly keep going until we're both sated and happy. By that point I have to get ready to go pick up the tiniest Northman. Which, on second thought, is a title he will lose by June. I grin to myself as I drive, thinking about what it was like to have Finn. He'd been such an amazingly happy baby and it had been so fantastic to watch Eric, My Husband become Eric, My Child's Father. It had also been pretty fantastic to watch him realize that he could do this, the fathering thing, to witness him become the kind of man my son could look up to. Finn has always looked at Eric like he hung the moon, which is pretty easy to understand. I think I look at Eric the same way too, sometimes, and now I'm wondering if this baby will as well.

Finn is on the playground when I get there, which is what I've told him to do instead of stand by the side of the street where he could get bored and walk off, or worse. Regardless, I find a place to park and go to fetch my son, pleased to see that he has managed to not get paint on his shirt today. He does, almost daily, which would be almost impressive in itself were it not completely frustrating.

"Is Dad home?" This is why the little butt is so excited. And I thought it was because of me.

"Yes, he is! He's waiting for you," I smile at him in the rearview mirror and he gives me the widest grin he can manage, this tiny adorable version of my husband. I'm such a sucker for his tiny grins. It would only be fair for us to have a girl so Eric could experience what it's like dealing with a tiny adorable version of your spouse. I put on Ingrid Michaelson which makes Finn infinitely happy because her voice makes him think she's a children's singer, though I suspect he has a secret love for nerdy-looking women that I'm sure is going to make his nerdy female classmates very happy once he becomes more of a heartbreaker than he already is. To my surprise, Eric isn't doing anything he isn't supposed to when we get home, and I'm pleased until I realize there's chili in the slow-cooker. I give him a dirty look over Finn's head and he shoots me a boyish smile before letting Finn crawl all over him on the couch.

A while later Finn races me to the door when the bell rings and I let the little brat win, standing back as he pulls the door open.

"Hi Nate."

"Hi Finn," Nate grins down at my son. They might as well be carbon copies of each other, even though Nate's version of Eric's face has Natasha's dimples and green eyes. I follow my son's lead and smile at Natasha, inviting her in. Even though Natasha and I are perfectly pleasant to each other, I'd be lying if I said I like having my husband's ex-wife around even after all these years. It has nothing to do with my trust in Eric – which is implicit – or my own insecurities, well maybe it has something to do with my insecurities. But mostly it's because whatever his part may have been in the destruction of their marriage, she still broke Eric's heart and stomped all over it, and then withheld a pretty crucial truth for many years. It makes me all protective of him even though he doesn't need me to protect him, because despite the fact that he has been a part of Nate's life for over five years, every now and then I catch him looking at Finn like he wished he could have seen Nate when he was this little too. And Nate is such a little man already; it feels like yesterday that Eric was explaining his first marriage to him in terms of fairytales. Now, Eric hauls himself to his feet and perches on the back of the couch to hug Nate, even though they're not really very hug-y.

"Mom said you got shot."

"I did. In the thigh. This is what becomes of all that rap music you young'uns listen to."

"Funny, Dad." Nate rolls his eyes. "You're not even that old."

Eric narrows his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Mom won't let me go to a concert."

"Yeah okay, I'm heading out." Natasha rolls her eyes and adds, "Ask him who he's going with. I'll pick him up at eight?"

"Sounds good, thank you." I walk her to the door and return just in time to hear Eric say, "You want to go to a hardcore rap concert, that your mom said you shouldn't listen to in the first place, with another 11-year-old and no chaperone? Okay."

My jaw drops as Nate's face lights right up. "Really?"

"Nope." Eric smiles and hops on one leg over to the kitchen to get Finn a before-dinner snack while I hide a smirk. My son is watching this exchange with interest so I tell him to remember this and save himself the trouble in five years. He just gives me a look like I'm a moron and tells me he doesn't like rap before taking the banana Eric is handing him and going to his room. God bless.

"Dad, come on. Mom said if you say 'yes' I can go, and Mike's dad told him he can go if my parents say yes." I almost feel bad for Nate, with the way he's pleading, but he is a tiny person expecting to go to a concert at the Saddledome unsupervised. I remember the severity of the pushing and shoving at my first concert, when I had been fourteen. Although, I guess if Nate doesn't get floor tickets, there's less to be worried about.

"Then I guess you're not going, Nathaniel." Eric pulls out the Nathaniel card when he's trying to look more displeased than he is but can't really help. Nate doesn't even bother pointing out that it's not even his name.

"Dad, please. I'll mow your lawn for a month. That's good, right Sookie?" He turns his huge green eyes to me and I waver, feeling like I should play the fun step-parent card like I do sometimes, for the sake of our relationship.

"Nice try, Nate. It's going to snow by mid-October."

"So, I'll shovel your driveway. Sookie, help me out here." He pouts. He's such a good-looking little kid that the pout is really unnecessary.

"Eric, what if he doesn't get floor tickets?"

Nate looks like that's not okay with him but wisely reconsiders the protest. Eric gives it some thought.

"Seat tickets and Mike's dad and I have to come with you. _And_ you're shoveling our driveway and your mom's."

"Seat tickets, _you_ can come with us, I shovel your driveway _and_, I'm throwing in an extra month of cleaning your pool this summer if you don't tell mom that I'm shoveling your driveway." He's totally not going to be here often enough to shovel our driveway and we all know it. Actually, on second thought, with Eric out of commission it's going to be me this year. At least I can make sure he cleans our pool in the summer.

"You've got yourself a deal, Mini Me." I smile at the nickname my husband has given his son, and Nate throws his arms up in the air.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." He throws his arms around Eric before running over to hug me as well. "Can I text Mike?" He's only supposed to use his cellphone in an emergency; that was the deal when we got it for him.

"Don't push it. You can tell him tomorrow." Nate doesn't even look fazed, but nods and tells Eric he's glad he is okay. "Just so I could give you permission to the concert, huh?" Eric is doing his best to look unimpressed.

"No, 'cause you're the best dad ever." He grins. "Will you tell Mom?"

"Yes," Eric sighs. "And burn me a disc of this rap group I'm going to have to endure two hours of."

"Yes, sir."

"Now go do your homework before I change my mind." Nate promptly runs off, leaving Eric and I alone in the kitchen.

"That was some pretty sneaky bargaining you did there," I smile, ushering him back to the couch. He's looking a little pale from all the standing. "You know he's not going to actually shovel our driveway, right?"

"Oh yeah. And like I would want to spend two hours with Mike's dad." The man is about as interesting as a bowl of Cream of Wheat.

"But you're willing to sacrifice two hours of your life to terrible music?"

"How bad can it be, I listen to your music all the time when you take the iPod port hostage."

"Asshole." I backhand him.

"Watch it, Mrs Northman. There are young children in the house."

After dinner Eric and I read downstairs while Nate and Finn watch _Toy Story 3_ until Natasha shows up to pick up Nate. Afterwards, Finn cuddles up on the couch before eventually falling asleep against his daddy. I watch them discreetly for a second as my husband absently stroking Finn's hair, and even manage to whip out my phone and take a photo before he notices.

"What?" He smiles at me.

"You were just having such a Kodak moment I had to immortalize it." I quickly make it my background and put the phone away. "We should wake him up. He needs to bathe."

"Aww, leave my boy alone, he's comfy here." He pouts, sees the amused look on my face, and wakes Finn up. He grumbles and begs me to let him skip his bath to no avail, but cheers up when I promise to read him two chapters of _Harry Potter. _The joke's on the tiny human though, because he's asleep halfway through the first chapter so I kiss his forehead and slip out, leaving the door ajar on my way out. I ask Eric if he wants to just sleep on the couch but he gives me the frigging puppy dog eyes and I roll my eyes at him, helping him make his way upstairs with the crutches, even though it takes him forever.

"Jesus, that was a pain in my ass."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch-bitch-bitch." I roll my eyes and grin when I catch his dirty look. Eric makes a stop in Finn's room, bending down to kiss his forehead before we proceed to our room and get under the covers once Eric has taken his pills and we've gone through our respective routines.

"How's your leg?"

"Hurts a bit, but that's kind of a given." I scoot closer to him, tucking myself against his non-injured side.

"I missed you last night." I hate spending nights apart, even though I've been on a few book tours since we've been together. The last one had been two years ago, and I'd been so miserable that Eric and Finn had surprised me by showing up in San Francisco. So last night the bed had felt incredibly empty without the six-foot-five presence of my husband, and I'm pretty grateful to have him back tonight. And of course, incredibly grateful that the shooting didn't turn out nearly as badly as it could have. Now, my husband pulls me close for a kiss and slips his hand under the back of my shirt to rest it on my skin.

"Missed you. Does that make us suckers?"

"Probably." I'm okay with that.

"I can't believe you're pregnant."

"I know. And at 40, too. This is not going to be pretty."

"But you're always pretty," he smiles flirtatiously and earns himself a little smack to the chest.

A few months later, once the wound on my husband's thigh has healed to pink scar tissue, I'm sitting on the couch doing some research for my next book when Eric lets himself into the house.

"Hey, what are you doing home?" A glance at the clock confirms that it's barely noon.

"I got the rest of the day off," he tells me, hanging up his coat and kicking off his snow-crusted boots.

"How come?" This has never happened before. I can't think of a single reason why it would unless something terrible has happened, but I'd say he looks more apprehensive than anything else. I hoist myself up, resting a hand on my bump as I go over to kiss him on cheek.

"I got a promotion," my husband tells me.

"What?" He doesn't want a promotion; he passed one down last year because he likes what he does and has no interest in getting involved with any of the bureaucratic bullshit. Even if he didn't make enough money to support our family, I do, so we're both lucky in the sense that we can do what we love to do best without having to worry about money.

"To Captain. It's Captain Bartlett's last week and I'm going to be his replacement."

"Shouldn't Edgington be his replacement?" Since he is Lieutenant and a bit of a shoo-in for Captain, especially since he would _want _the promotion.

"He would be if he hadn't put in for a transfer to Edmonton."

"But you never wanted to be Captain." I say and he just shrugs, leading me back to the couch. "Eric," I say sharply.

"Things change, Sookie. Me getting shot…" He shakes his head. "This is a big deal; I'd be the youngest police Captain on the west coast."

"You're doing this because I'm pregnant," I say, not quite believing this.

"I'm doing it for all of you."

"But you always said you would hate doing what Bartlett was doing, because it was all bureaucracy and paperwork."

"Sure. I liked solving cases and cleaning up the streets," he chuckles at the cliché. "And technically I'll still be contributing to that, but in a different way. A safer way that makes it less likely for me to get hurt again."

"Eric…" I don't know what to say. He loved his job and this promotion would mean giving up on everything he enjoyed; it worries me that he's giving it all up because as much as I've always kind of wanted this, I don't want him to resent us for it. I want him to do what he loves because it makes him happy and I'd refused to ask him to stop because it was part of him.

"It's okay. I prioritized and picked you guys over my job, since you're kinda the obvious choice here. I don't want you to get another phone call telling you that I'm in the hospital." He moves to sit closer and presses a kiss to my forehead. "You can be happy, Sookie. I know you want this."

"I want you to be happy."

"_You_ make me happy. You and the kids." His hand moves to rest on my six-month-old bump and the baby moves towards him, probably alerted by the sound of her daddy's voice.

We'd found out about the gender of the baby a few months ago and I'd squealed, clapping my hands and exclaiming that now we had te whole set. I'm pregnant with a tiny female Northman, which had thrilled Paige to no end. Now, Eric grins at the movement and looks up to meet my eyes.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Do you love me?"

"Of course."

"Then yeah, I'm sure."

I search his expression and find sincerity, much to my relief. If he's sure, there's no reason why I shouldn't be happy. He's practically giving me everything I've ever wanted but had refused to ask for; his safety.

"Lighten up, wife of mine," he squeezes my hand and I offer him a tentative smile. "Good girl. Now, I'm not too sure but I think promotions are cause for a celebration, correct?"

I smile. "Correct."

"Will you come help me celebrate? I can't do it without you."

"Technically you could, it would just be a really sad celebration," I laugh and he stands up, leading me up to our bedroom where the celebrations continue for quite a while.


End file.
